


After the Storm

by gypsiangel



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Newt Scamander, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, F/M, Having trouble with tags this morning, I kill off characters :(, I mess with time and storylines in this... as per my usual ;), M/M, Major Hurt/Comfort, Mummy Newt, My favroite boys all meet and it's awesome, Original Percival Graves Has PTSD, Protective Newt Scamander, Protective Queenie, Protective Remus Lupin, Sexual Situations, Snarky Remus, They suck and I'll add more later when I've had coffee, Time Travel, Violence, Yay! Fanfic!, can't believe I forgot to add angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-09-10 17:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8925049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsiangel/pseuds/gypsiangel
Summary: Young Remus Lupin is hurled back through time and halfway across the world after the Marauders encounter Death Eaters in the Forbidden Forest. Newt and Tina find him and it's only a matter of time before all hell breaks loose.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This summary sucks, but my brain isn't really up for brainstorming something better. It'll definitely change later. :) Hopefully you guys read this anyway, cause it bit me and it's not letting go easy. :D Please drop me a line and lmk what you think! Feedback really does help the creative process along. Cheers, and I hope you like it! 
> 
> I mess with the timeline in this, as I usually do in my fics. :) Most differences should be obvious, but anything that isn't explained, I'll drop a line.

*~*~*

            He should have known that this was going to end badly. Very, very badly. When his best mates cornered him with that look in their eyes, it never ended well. This time it was a camping trip to the northern corner of the Forbidden Forest as their last hurrah before graduating. “Come on, Moony! It’s not as if they can expel us, we’ve done all our exams and the graduation ceremony is on Tuesday.” James was leaning in over the table at breakfast, his dark eyes shining over at Remus with their usual intensity. He stuffed a piece of toast with jam into his mouth and managed to knock his tea over in his enthusiasm, causing Lily to glower over at him grumpily as she silently cleaned up the mess with her wand. There were still times when the girl had a hard time remembering why she’d given in and finally fallen for the arse.

            “Yeah,” Pete chimed in, pudgy fingers reaching for a pastry. “And it’s not as if we don’t know our way around that part. We won’t be lost.”

            It was Sirius that clenched it, however, with his usual smirk, “C’mon, Moony, don’t be such a bloody puppy about it. Or are you scared that there are things out there scarier than you?” Under the table, where their friends couldn’t see, a hand was slyly inching up his thigh, the message clear. _Camping. Alcohol. Plenty of space and time to shag without anyone else knowing._

            Remus had rolled his eyes and caved, thoughts of a mostly naked Sirius pinned and mewling against a tree running rampant through his mind. That had been the beginning of the end, and now he was lying on his back, staring up into a gray winter sky framed by rather new buildings far taller than he’d ever seen. He felt as if he were just waking up from a bad full moon transformation and he automatically did a body check for anything more severe than the normal joint dislocations and random bruises and scrapes. He hadn’t torn himself up really badly since Prongs, Padfoot, and Wormtail had started spending the moons with him, but since he was disoriented and couldn’t remember anything of how he’d ended up in a bloody _city_ of all places... The last thing he remembered was… was the darkness of the forest closing around them as they built the fire and set up the tent. James pulling the bottle of firewhiskey he’d smuggled in, Pete producing the somewhat smashed but still edible tray of sandwiches and pastries he’d nicked from the kitchens, and Sirius falling back onto his backside when something gripped his ankle from the darkness outside their circle of light and jerked…

            A whimper left his throat as he felt broken bits of his ribs grind together when he jolted at the sudden visual memory. _Merlin’s balls, that fucking hurt!_ His right wrist was tender, but he could move it, which was more than he could say for his left knee. Electric agony shot up and down his leg when he tried to bend it, but he recognized it as a dislocation instead of a break, which was good. There were gashes along his sides, but they were bigger than what his own claws could make and somewhat deeper. Tears spilled as he realized the futility of his position. He didn’t know where he was, but it definitely wasn’t anywhere near Hogwarts.

            He felt his wand digging into his forearm holster, the one that James had gifted him for Christmas a few months ago. _Bloody Christ_ … James. Panicked shouts echoed in his ears as he remembered flashes of running through the underbrush that seemed so much more difficult to navigate on two legs. He cried out as he tried to reach it, his shoulder sending jabs of electricity straight to his brain. He had to get to his wand, that was the only thing that could help. He grit his teeth and tried again, stubbornly pushing past this all too familiar pain. It was too much and he fell back with a defeated grunt, lights swimming in his vision.

            There was a rustling sound and he squeezed his eyes shut, panic making his breath choppy. It hurt, bloody fuck, it hurt to even breathe.

             “Hey, there, don’t move,” a soft voice ordered him and Remus cracked his eyes open to see an angular, freckled face peering down at him. Auburn curls fell into a pale forehead as swift but gentle hands moved over him, one hand resting in the middle of his chest to keep him still while the other held a russet wand in the familiar diagnosis patterns. “We’ve got help. Y-you’ve been banged up good, chap.”

             “Mr. Scamander, I told you, you can’t just take off like that!” The female voice startled Remus, making him jolt and turn glazed, terrified eyes to a dark haired young woman who sucked in a startled and horrified gasp. “What happened here? Oh, God. We can’t… I’ll call the mediwizards. Even if he’s a no-maj, we can still get help and then…”

              Remus jerked again and tried to pull himself back and away. He coughed and nearly vomited at the pain of it, but he shook his head, “N-no mediwizards,” he croaked. They wouldn’t help him. It would be the same thing as it always was, they would take one look at the old bite wound on his shoulder that had never really healed and they would know. He didn’t know what the policy was here on werewolves, but at home, that would leave him in a cold, sterile room for days, if not weeks while they investigated whether or not he’d hurt someone while ‘incapacitated’. And if they even suspected that he had… well, they may be more forgiving than the days of killing werewolves on detection, but not by much.

             The woman squatted down and reached out a hand, misinterpreting his fear, “It’s all right, we’re calling in doctors to help you. You need to stay calm, you’ve been very hurt.”

             He shook his head and collapsed back when his shoulder gave out completely with a wet popping sound. He swallowed the scream that swam up, feeling waves of white pulsing behind his eyelids. “T-they w-won’t help… me. P-please.”

             He felt a calming hand on his face and a murmured sedation charm sent waves of relief over him. He tried again, “Not… not a muggle… no medi-” He couldn’t finish the sentence as another, warmer wave went over him and took him under.

*~*~*

            Newt’s eyes widened as he understood what the battered young man was saying. Ms. Goldstein spluttered behind him when he stopped her from calling for the healers, “Help me get him back to your flat.”

            “What? No, we need to get him into the hospital! He’s been near to ripped apart.”

            Newt’s jaw tightened as he glanced back at her. Without another word, he gripped her arm and apparated them to where he remembered her rooms to be. When they popped in, her glare could have melted ice, but he was distracted by the welcome sound of Queenie’s gasp. “Oh, the poor, poor dear! Newt, bring him over here. No, Tina, we don’t want to call the healers, we’ve got this one handled on our own. It’s better that way.”

            With that, Tina was pushed to the side and her sister took over, moving on instinct and listening to Newt’s instructions as they efficiently stripped him of his layers of jumper and shirts. “I need to go into my case for a moment,” he told Queenie abruptly, pressing a warm, wet cloth into her hands. “Keep pressure on that side wound.” With that, he opened his case and disappeared into it.

            While he was gone, Tina stared helplessly at the boy bleeding out on her living room floor. He was no more than seventeen, maybe eighteen, tops, tall and wiry. His features were slack and rode the line between handsome and bland. Golden brown hair fell into his forehead, and her eyes widened when she noted the healed scars that ran across his face. It looked like claw marks. There was a sudden drop in her stomach as she processed exactly what he’d said in that alleyway. He hadn’t been frightened of magic, he’d been frightened of _them_ , of a trip into the wizarding hospitals. For a suspended moment there was a horrific battle between empathy and ingrained, instinctual and guttural fear. Her sister pinned her with golden eyes that clearly told her that trying to pry her away from this poor boy would be dangerous at best.

            “He is _a child_ ,” Queenie hissed, rare anger sparking from her. Saved from having to react, Tina’s eyes snapped to Newt’s case as the Brit came back out, clutching another leather satchel.

            “Right.” Using quick, terse sentences, Newt quickly set about repairing and healing what he could. Almost paralyzed by internal conflict and her own revulsion at her innate urge to contact her superiors to report in like a dutiful witch despite her demotion, Tina moved back and watched her sister and their strange new friend tend to the mauled teenager.

            Newt was a different creature right then, his hands calm and confident as he retrieved potion bottles and waved his wand over broken bones and dislocated joints. He soothed and stroked when it seemed as if the young man were about to wake, murmuring barely audible words of comfort. “There’s a good boy,” she heard him say quietly when there was a sickening pop as his shoulder was pulled back into place. She felt like she wanted to throw up. What had done this to this kid? And he _was_ a kid, she realized. Queenie was right.

            “Of course, I’m right,” her sister shot back at her, still sounding sharp.

             “I didn’t say you weren’t,” Tina whispered. She watched as Newt’s long, thin fingers moved over the mess of bruises that covered the boy’s torso, gently prodding with a scarily intent look on his face. Was this what he looked like as he tended his beasts? Would he take this one in too? _Could_ he take this one in too, like a broken stray that needed looking after? Did it work like that when…

            Queenie shot her a nasty look, then cooed and stroked the boy’s curls back when he made a short, pained sound and moved restlessly as Newt healed the worst of his broken ribs. Finally, after what felt like ages, Newt relaxed back on his haunches and took a shaky breath. He had done what he could, now the rest was just a matter of waiting. There were some things that he couldn’t heal with magic, at least not all the way. This wasn’t the first time this poor boy had gone through something like this, he mused. The still angry, cursed bite mark that covered the entire left side of his shoulder and back told the story, as did the various scars that littered the lanky but well-muscled body.

            “I need to report this.” Tina’s voice sounded small and it took a moment for it to register, but both Newt and Queenie turned wide eyes up to her.

            “No!” Newt was quick to stand, unconsciously bracing his feet as he stood protectively over the sedated werewolf. There was a hardness to his eyes that Tina hadn’t been sure he was capable of. “I will not have him executed. N-not on my watch. He is a human being twenty-eight days out of the month, with a conscious mind and a right to live just the same as all the rest of us.”

            “Wait,” Tina held up her hand, and even Queenie looked at him in horror, “No one said anything about executing him. Where did you get that hideous idea?”

            Newt blinked at her, green eyes darting up to meet hers, then darted away. His fingers toyed with the sleeve of his jumper. After a moment, he said in a quieter tone, “I guess I should ask what the policy on werewolves is here, then, shouldn’t I?”

            “It’s not kill on sight,” Tina said, finally feeling something other than the dangerous mix of guilty obligation and righteous pity. “We’re not complete barbarians, Mr. Scamander. There would be an assessment of his mental and emotional capacity, a look into his background for any obvious leanings for violence or criminal behavior, and a trip in to register with the Lycanthropic Affairs Division. It wouldn’t be pleasant by any means, as part of that is a stint in isolation while he’s assessed, but it’s not an immediate trip to the chamber.”

            There was a strange look coming across Newt’s face as he let the information sink in. “For all of the brashness and abruptness, you Americans are in some ways far ahead of Magical Europe.”

            Queenie looked horrified, the hand not holding the boy’s in a comforting grip rose to press against her mouth. “My God, Newt. They actually… Oh, dear. But I thought we had a stricter view on magical creatures?”

            Shaking his head shortly, Newt nervously went back to his knees next to their guest. “Not as such. Now, would you be a dear and help me get him in my case? That would be the best place for him for now.” He turned bright, strangely compelling eyes up to look at Tina. “I would implore you to hold off on reporting right away, Ms. Goldstein. Please. I- I would like to see what exactly happened to bring him here, a-and n-no offence to your profession, b-but magical law enforcement has a habit of shooting first, ask questions later. It would be easier for me to gain his trust and offer help without interference.”

            Tina took in a shaky breath and looked at the young man lying on her living room floor, still looking as if they’d pulled him out from under a train. As if on cue, he restlessly turned his face so that the light caught his achingly young features. This side of his face held nothing but smooth, creamy skin and a smattering of faint freckles. For a second, he wasn’t anything but a victim of some horrible violence, nothing more, nothing less. He was a human child and didn’t deserve to be poked and prodded and treated with harshness when his only crime had been to survive.

            “Please, Teen,” Queenie said softly, and Tina’s eyes flickered over her sister’s open, sweet face. Feeling that now familiar creeping doom in her stomach, she reluctantly nodded.

*~*~*

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, Batman! You guys are so awesome! Thank you for the kudos and comments! :D That said, I hope I don't disappoint you guys as we go along.

*~*~*

            _“Come on, Remmy! It’s gonna be dark soon and Evans said…” Remus rolled his eyes and threw a piece of wadded parchment at his friend’s head. James ducked and pulled hard on one of Remus’s sock-clad feet. The common room was brightly lit and comfortable and he was finally warm after an afternoon of horrible chills. It had been a rough set of days and he was more than happy to remain just where he was. It was unfortunate that James had different ideas. Soulful dark eyes stared at him with a pout that he’d perfected at his mother’s knee. It shouldn’t work as easily as it did._

_“We’ve been planning this for two weeks! We can’t do it without you.”_

_“Fine, I guess I can finish this up later when we get back. And don’t call me Remmy, you twat.”_

_“Whatever, Moonshine Remmikins. Padfoot is already down there with the butterbeer and firewhiskey. If we want any, we’ve got to be quick. You know how he is, he’ll have half of it drunk himself and half of it given away.”_

_Remus did know how Sirius was, and there was a twinge in his chest when he thought of the almost pretty face of his best friend, pissed off his rocker and making moves on anything with two legs. He didn’t know if he wanted to go and watch it again. It was getting almost unbearable to witness. He didn’t want to see the other boy kissing anyone else. It was awkward and horrid and yet he couldn’t stop himself from watching…_

_Bodies pressed together, tight, tighter, so close that he could feel Sirius’s heartbeat against his own chest. Their breath mingled together as they learned each other’s taste. Hands roaming over uncharted territory, at least for Remus. Gasping as he gripped the shorter boy’s thighs, tugging and bracing them both against the chilled wall of the astronomy tower._

_Stolen kisses and smuggling a laughing Sirius into the prefect’s bathroom where they put the hot water and bath oils to good use. Sitting together at breakfast, knees touching under the table as they tried to keep their hands above it. James giving them the hairy eyeball when he noticed a difference in how they cuddled on the sofas in the common room._

_Sitting on the log pulled up close to the roaring fire, watching as Sirius shot him a sultry look over his shoulder as he neared the edge of the light. Horror and surprise taking over as something reached out and grasped his ankle, jerking…_

            Remus jolted awake with a half-scream burning his throat and a dull pain radiating from what felt like everywhere. He fell back against the soft blankets that made up a nest of sorts with a pained groan as he tried to reign in his panicked heartbeat.

            “You’re awake,” an unfamiliar voice murmured from nearby and Remus jerked, automatically rolling away, off the makeshift cot and into a defensive crouch, ignoring the pull of not-quite healed flesh and bones. The man who’d spoken was standing very still only a couple feet away, hands held out and splayed to show himself unarmed and harmless. He was tall and thin, his wiry build very similar to Remus’s own, so he wasn’t fooled by the awkward stance and hunched shoulders. He looked vaguely familiar. “I’m sorry to have startled you. My name’s Newt, my friends and I found you in an alleyway and brought you here to tend your wounds. You’re safe here.”

            “Where is here,” Remus demanded hoarsely, his throat was dry and he desperately needed something to drink. He needed answers first. His legs started to shake and he hoped he could hold out long enough to get away if he needed to. Adrenaline was his friend in times like these, and it was sad enough that he was familiar with the sensation.   

            “New York City, in the United States.”

            Remus blinked just before his knee gave out with a stab of pain. He collapsed with a huff, falling in an ungraceful heap. When Newt took a step toward him, as if to help, he grunted, “Don’t! J-just stay th-there.”

            As if on cue, there was a cheerful tap on the doorframe and a gentle cloud of light fragrance as Queenie came through the main doorway and into what served as Newt’s living quarters inside the case. She was all softness and golden light as she came up beside Newt, her soft smile falling into a gasp as she saw their young patient on the ground, looking pale, confused, and utterly terrified. His thoughts were racing, pinging around with little sense. Cataloguing but not heeding the cowering flinch when she rushed in toward him, she went to his side and started fussing. In her experience, that was the best way to push through and calm the wounded male species. Especially ones that have been through something so traumatic.

             He jerked back when she touched him, unusual greenish amber eyes widening as she brushed her fingers over his fevered face. “You poor thing! Let’s get you back in the bed, okay? You’re not completely up yet.”

            Blinking but no longer flinching away, the boy allowed her to pull him up, bravely biting back the whimpers that were threatening to escape. An image of a sweet-faced woman with the same amber-green eyes and tawny hair came through, along with an intense longing so strong that Queenie’s eyes welled with tears. She knew that feeling all too well. “It’s all right, Remus,” she murmured without thinking, “We’ve got you now and no one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

            He stiffened and would have jerked away if Newt hadn’t stepped in to help, coming along his other side and sliding an arm around his waist to keep him stable. “Who are you?” The words were grit out through clenched teeth as pain rippled through him. It was a familiar pain, Queenie realized. He was _used_ to this kind of agony; it had made up the majority of his life. Anger coiled in her stomach, but she kept her demeanor right where it was. He didn’t need anger. He needed love and caring and someone to take care of him, to make sure he didn’t hurt anymore.

            “I’m Queenie,” she told him simply with a beautiful smile as she and Newt eased him back down on the cot of blankets. “And this is Newt. He and my sister found you in the city all torn up. Do you remember how you got there, doll?”

            _Screaming. Prongs was screaming, his voice breaking into sobs as Remus and Peter rolled down a hill and splashed into the icy river. Sirius. Oh, Merlin… Sirius was already gone. That pain was a horrid pit that was so much worse than the physical. Black, billowing robes and bone-white masks, cackling laughter and someone was standing over him, ebony wand raised. Blinding white light and then bones shifting, breaking, pulling…_

           Queenie gasped and clutched him to her as a wave of horror crashed over him at the memory. “No,” he choked, a sob rising in his throat as he unconsciously clung to her. “No, it can’t be what happened. It wasn’t the full moon. It wasn’t my time. Oh, God, what did I do?”

            Without explanation, Newt pressed a potion vial against the boy’s lips, cupping his jawline hard with his other hand and tipping his head back, giving him no choice but to drink it. The effects were immediate as he slumped forward, his forehead coming to rest on Queenie’s shoulder. The auburn-haired wizard gently eased the teen back and stroked pale fingers over his cheeks and forehead. “He’s running a pretty high fever. Not quite sure if this is a side effect of his lycanthropy or if he’s carrying some sort of other sickness. Weres usually run a bit on the warmer side, but not this warm.”

            There was a quiet cooing mewl and a tug at Newt’s pants leg. He looked down at Dougal, the demiguise with an indulgent and curious look. “Hey, there.”

            Soulful eyes looked from the boy to his mummy and then slowly touched a long-fingered paw to the boy’s leg. Dougal made another low sound and then curled up in the bed next to Remus. He wrapped his long-furred body around the teenager’s waist and chest, purring a little in the back of his throat. “Well, that’s just fine, Dougal. I’ll let you watch over him for now, yeah?”

            Queenie allowed herself to be drawn away from the young werewolf, following Newt as he went into the kitchen area of his magical space. “I know someone that can come and check him over for us,” she offered, thinking of a couple people right off the top of her head that would be discreet and empathetic enough not to turn them in for avoiding werewolf registration.

            Newt shook his head and went about finishing making his tea, which had been interrupted by the boy’s nightmare. He was deep in thought, thinking over what he’d overheard. _“No, it can’t be what happened. It wasn’t the full moon. It wasn’t my time. Oh, God, what did I do?”_

            He’d heard of curses warped to force a lycanthrope into transformation early, but those were rare and only used in certain circles. Circles that, unfortunately, Newt knew far too well. The dark circuses and carnivals that exploited creatures like the very ones in his care. Like the one he’d rescued Frank from. He’d never seen them actually hold captive a werewolf before, since it was harder to travel and keep a man in a cage instead of a wolf. But it was an ever changing ‘industry’ and it wasn’t completely unheard of. He just hadn’t seen it with his own eyes yet.

            Absently offering Queenie a fragile blue and white china teacup that matched the set he’d inherited from his mum and kept with him no matter where he was, Newt mulled over the possibilities and forgot to answer the unasked question his friend had posed. Finally, Queenie broke into his thoughts and prompted gently, “Will he be all right without further looking after, Newt?”

            “Hmn?” He looked up, startled as he’d nearly forgotten she was there. His lips twitched in a wry smile and he neatly avoided looking into her eyes. “Yes, yes, he’ll be fine. This was mostly a transformation gone wrong. If I’m right, someone may have forced the wolf upon him. That, coupled with the sheer trauma of whatever occurred before, has weakened his system immensely. Contrary to popular opinion, werewolves don’t hold an exceptionally strong constitution while they’re human. They are incredibly fragile immediately before and after the full moon, often getting what’s called ‘moonsickness’, where they may develop high fevers and feel as if they have a case of the flu. After the full moon, depending on how they spend it, they can come out much like our young friend.”

            Queenie frowned and laid a hand on her suddenly rolling stomach. “That explains it, then,” she murmured and felt tears prick the back of her eyelids.

            “Explains what?” Newt’s gaze sharpened, “Queenie, I need to know what you saw in him. Especially if someone forced the wolf upon him, it could be vital to stopping them from doing it to another. Or them finding him again.”

She thought over the images she’d glimpsed and she stared blankly into her cooling tea. “There were heavily robed figures, all billowy and black. Their faces were covered with bone masks shaped like skulls. There was screaming in the background, someone he thought of as ‘Prongs’. Another boy, Sirius, had already been taken, and he was running and tumbling down a hill, into cold water. The figure stood over him, wand raised, and hit him with the curse. Then everything went white and his bones were moving, flesh was tearing and shifting.” Queenie swallowed back the bile that rose in her mouth and her delicate fingers tightened around her teacup.

            There was a flash of pained anger from her quiet friend and she looked up, surprised. Newt wasn’t exactly easy to read as his occulmancy shields were rather well developed and he was incredibly astute at avoiding any sort of contact that may betray what was going through that amazingly complex mind of his. He’d put his own teacup down a little too gently and his strong jawline was ticking as his eyes bored holes in the ground, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

            “Newt? Honey, what is it?”

            “There’s no end to the depravity of humans exploiting their fellow creatures. It doesn’t ever end. They’ve even found a way to do the same to their own, justifying it as classifying lycanthropes as beasts instead of a member of their own species that happens to suffer from a disease.”

            Queenie sighed and couldn’t blame him overmuch for distancing himself from the human race as a whole. No doubt with the atrocities he’d witnessed, he was much more comfortable that way. It explained a lot about the man’s character and why he was infinitely more comfortable in the presence of his beasts than he was with people.

*~*~*

            Newt busied himself with the care of his creatures while he waited for his young charge to wake up again. Thankfully Queenie had taken her leave a couple hours ago, picking up on his uncomfortable need to be alone for a while to process and make plans for how to proceed. Taking in a human, no matter how damaged or in need of help, was far different from bringing home and caring for his rescues. Not that it changed anything, but Newt wasn’t even sure of where the boy had come from. His accent had been decidedly not American, and yet it hadn’t been quite British either. Maybe Welsh? It was too hard to tell from their small interaction, but he was decidedly not from this region.

            How had he managed to get himself here? Were his parents around? Were they missing him, searching for their son in a frantic haste when he didn’t return from an outing with friends? Or was he a runaway? Magical Europe wasn’t a nice place for weres, wolves in particular, and parents were known to abandon their children when it became obvious how much their lives were to change. Especially in the wizarding circles back home, it was dangerous for the entire family to harbor a lycanthropic child, and it wasn't merely because of the child itself. There were laws in place that held anyone harboring a 'dark creature' just as liable as the creature itself. The entire notion made him incredibly angry.

             With a decent glamour, one could possibly pass as normal. As long as you were very, very careful on who you let into your inner sanctum. The few werewolves Newt had come across in his travels had all been nomadic, secular types that never stayed for long in a community, and always on the outskirts.

            The wilds of Romania had retained the highest number he’d seen so far, the werewolves bonding much like their more ‘natural’ counterparts and moving in packs for safety and comfort. They had also been the healthiest he’d seen to date. Well-fed and moderately socialized, they were still considered societal outcasts, but they had each other. Newt had been privileged to be welcomed to one of their packs for the duration of a full lunar cycle while he was investigating a ring of dragon poachers that seemed to use the looming mountains as a base of operations. He’d saved one of their younglings from getting overtaken by a mountain lion, which was entirely mundane and not a bit magical. It had been easy enough to throw off the big cat, however, and after encountering a modified stunner, it had bolted away once recovered. It had endeared him to them rather remarkably, especially when they realized he wasn’t the sort of wizard that flung curses without care. That month had been one of the most informative he’d spent since leaving Hogwarts.

            He still routinely exchanged owls with the pack and had made plans to come and visit when he was next called to Romania. Perhaps that was where he could find a new home for their friend, he mused. It wasn’t perfect, but it would be a much safer alternative than sending him back toward Britain. He ran a hand over the iridescent feathered scales of the nearest occamy and smiled as she bumped his hand with her snout, asking for more cuddles. There was a noise from his living quarters and his lips twitched, a tinge of nervousness rising in his stomach. It was different dealing with another human being, one that was in dire need of help, yes, but the boy was still that… a boy. A teenager. He didn’t do well with human teenagers, and in the rush he’d forgotten about that. He straightened his spine and ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t treat his guest as one of his creatures for many reasons. One being that while Newt definitely didn’t mean it as an insult, the young werewolf was destined to take it as such. He’d most likely been referred to those kinds of terms in a derogatory way and it could be a sensitive area.

            Anxiety building steam, Newt was frozen for a moment, trying to work out the best way to approach. _Merlin_ , this had gone complicated far too quickly. There was the sound of a muffled groan of pain and a bitten off curse and Newt tried to shake it off. Teenager or not, the boy needed his help, his protection. That’s what was important. He needed kindness and a soft hand, just as all the rest of his menagerie had. Sucking in a breath, he patted the occamies one last time and went to check up on his guest.

 

*~*~*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all! Really, truly and deeply! That said, this chapter has some not-so-nice elements. Abuse and angst heavy, but ever so important. Thank you so much for reading this!

*~*~*

            Credence stood at the banister, hands gripping the railing as he looked down from the loft. His shirt was off and his face was blank as he stared off into space. As much as he tried to block out everything, to retreat into his mind like Mr. Graves had taught him, it seemed like everything was in hyper-focus. He could hear Mary Lou’s breath come just a bit quicker as she came up behind him and just looked at his scarred back, some of the marks barely healed from the last time she’d taken the belt to him. She enjoyed this. It had taken him a long time to realize that and understand it; she enjoyed hurting him, making him cry out and bleed.

            Chastity stared up from her spot at the large table downstairs, her own pale face carefully blank except for the tiny smirk she couldn’t quite smother. She was exactly the same as Mary Lou. The other teenager went out of her way to get Credence in trouble, not that it took that much when their mother was always searching for a reason. When her light blue eyes met his, he could see the horrible glee in them even over the distance. He felt anger and disgust rise in his chest. They called _him_ a monster, told him that he was an abomination that needed to be kept in check. He’d believed them for so long. He still believed them.

            Mr. Graves had told him otherwise. In those quiet moments when he saw the older man, he saw something other than the dark pit of pain and humiliation. He saw something akin to hope. He just needed to find the child, that special child that was so different from the others that flocked to the New Salemers Church to be fed and sent out on the streets to peddle flyers no one wanted. Once he completed that task, he could be taken away. Fingers tightened on the railing, knuckles turning white as he heard the testing snap of the belt. As it whirred through the air and pain blossomed against his side, Credence desperately wished he _was_ that special child, the one that Mr. Graves wanted so badly that he would leave another in the care of monsters to obtain it.

            He knew where he stood with the well-dressed, polished man. He knew that he wasn’t going to be taken away from his adoptive mother. He knew that Mr. Graves was only coddling him and being kind to reach an end. Credence was far from slow, but he was affection starved and desperate for anything to keep that evil darkness from spilling over again. He felt it rise in his chest and buzz in his head as the strap fell over and over on vulnerable flesh. Anger and repulsive hate danced over his skin, made his heart beat so fast it was almost too much… blessed numbness as his mind retreated into the swirling madness that hovered just under the surface. He didn’t lose himself completely. He could still hear the gasps and whimpers he couldn’t help but make over and over as his mother took out her frustration on him until her own arm was tired.

            He could still see Chastity's face, the expression changing just slightly as she watched him take his beating. He just couldn’t feel it anymore.

*~*~*

            The cupboard was small, much too small for a fully-grown man of Percival Graves’s stature. It was dark, cold, and cramped, and for the first week he was in there, Percival had been too out of his head to be bothered by it. Now, by the fourth, he was starting to really feel it. He knew that it could be much worse. He knew that he could be tortured by any number of spells and physical means, all of which he’d thought of almost obsessively during the first part of his stay. He was fed, a bowl of something wet and bland, once a day. He was given water, again in a bowl like a fucking animal. There was a bucket in the corner that was emptied every other day while he was sleeping.

            There was no light in this tiny hell. There was no sound, no blankets, no cot or pillows. He wore the same suit he’d worn into the office that fateful day… God knew how long ago. He was left with nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat and a lot of questions with no answers. Time had stopped meaning anything at this point and sometimes he wondered if he had actually been blinded. That would explain a lot, but not enough.

            He’d stripped out of his suit jacket, despite the fact that the tiny space was damp and cold. He’d suddenly needed his arms and torso completely free. His once pristine, pressed and starched white shirt was unbuttoned and untucked, loose around his chest and waist. It didn’t help. Panic was rising in his belly even as he tried desperately to rationalize it down and away.

            “It’s not going to do you any good to panic, Percy,” he muttered to himself, the sound of his own voice startling him after so long with no sound whatsoever. Amazingly, it was enough to calm him out of a full-blown attack. A bitter laugh echoed in his tiny prison and he marveled at the fact that there _was_ _an echo_. There was an echo. In such a small place, there shouldn’t have been. Hope sparking for the first time in forever, Percival reached out a hand until he could feel the cold, metallic wall. Biting at his lower lip, he started following it.

*~*~*

            _Lily stared at him from across the library table, green eyes unnervingly steady as she propped her chin on her fist. Remus avoided looking her in the eyes, instead staring down at the almost indecipherable notes from their charms class. Why were they so badly written? He could hardly read them, only one out of five words actually legible. It was his handwriting, only shaky and out of order. After a long moment of enduring her eyes boring into him, he looked up._

_“What?”_

_Her expression was sly and knowing. “You and Black are shagging like fucking bunnies, that’s what.”_

_He felt his face burn and cursed his father for gifting him with such fair skin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he told her primly, but ducked his head to avoid looking at her._

_“Don’t go all blushing innocent on me, Lupin. You forget that I_ know _you.”_

_Why the fuck were these notes so muddled? Had someone charmed them indecipherable? It was driving him mad trying to read them when the words kept rearranging themselves into nonsense. “Whatever you say, Evans,” he muttered, embarrassed. “Why are you so bloody interested in my love life, anyway?”_

_“He’s going to die soon.”_

_Remus’s head shot up, eyes going wide. Lily’s expression didn’t change as she looked at him with fond amusement. He thought he’d misheard, but she spoke again and he realized that her eyes were very, very wrong. “We’re going to take him apart, Remus. Piece by piece, by piece. He’s going to scream and beg so beautifully, and there’s nothing you can do about it. And James? Pretty, pretty boy isn’t going to last. There’s some inventive methods we can use to break that one.”_

_He was standing then, chair clattering to the ground as he pulled his wand and pointed it at the thing wearing Lily’s face. “Who are you?”_

_She laughed and leaned back in her chair. “Good luck, Remmy, darling. You’re going to need it.”_

            Remus woke up to a solid, oddly comforting weight across his chest and hips and a pained cry on his lips. The weight was warm and covered in soft fur and smelled of damp earth and… and citrus? There was a soft cooing sound and a delicate paw patted his cheek gently. He gave a start when he looked into the creature’s gentle face, leaning back so he could more easily see the thing’s eyes. Solemn and sad, it stared back at him as if it knew what he’d just woken from.

            “H-hello,” he managed, swallowing hard around the dryness in his throat. The thing blinked and made a purring mewling sound, petting his hair as if to calm him. He cleared his throat and winced as his chest muscles moved, “I-I need to get up and find… water?”

            Intelligence shown in those odd eyes and the thing nodded, gently moving off him and onto the floor where it hovered patiently. It took him a couple moments to pull himself upright, the effort almost too much. Frustration nagged at him as he realized that he was still in that unknown place and he felt like a coltish newborn. Weak, but no longer in total agony, he just sat there on the edge of the makeshift cot for a long moment as he tried to organize his thoughts.

            He was desperately thirsty, but didn’t know where to find something to drink. He vaguely remembered a man and woman that had helped him before, but there wasn’t anyone else in the somewhat cluttered space. Remus didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing at this point. He knew he should probably wait for someone to come along, but he’d never been good at that. Madame Pomfrey had always huffed her annoyance at him for getting out of bed far too early. He felt an uncomfortable yearning for the Hogwarts infirmary and the brusque but loving manner of the mediwitch in charge of it. She’d always had a soft spot for him, and it was no wonder with all the time he spent in there with her.

            Setting his jaw, he stretched out his legs in front of him, focusing on the twinge of his left knee. It was tender and swollen, most likely not entirely up to putting weight on it yet. He rotated his left ankle, judging how it affected the muscles in his calf and knee. Maybe he would be all right. It was good to know what your limitations were, just in case. Nothing here smelled of danger and what he remembered of his hosts, they weren’t bent on harming him. In fact, he faintly thought of soft arms and an even softer scent that had reminded him of his mother.

            Still, it wouldn’t do to be at a disadvantage. He needed to be mobile. He needed to find a way out of here and into a more neutral space.

            When he stood up, it was obvious he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Shaky legs giving out, he sat right back down on the cot with a vehement curse, tears burning the back of his eyelids. When the familiar redheaded man came in from behind a cleverly disguised tarp, Remus blurted the first thing that came to his mind, “Where the bloody hell am I, and where is my wand?”

The smile seemed to light up the other man’s face, even as his feet seemed to falter. “Well, you’re certainly feeling better, aren’t you?”

Remus blushed and remembered his manners, glancing down at his hands, which were fisted in the blankets on either side of his hips. He looked back up, habit or just wolf-instinct telling him to keep the other in his sight. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his chest, which was wearing an unfamiliar shirt, he noted sheepishly. “I-I’m sorry. I- that was rude. You’ve helped me and I’m being a prat.”

“No, no, those are completely valid questions. Let’s get you some water, shall we? You must be thirsty, the healing potions have a tendency to dehydrate a person.”

Remus watched, tense and watchful as his host- hopefully not his captor- went to gather a pitcher of clear water and a set of glasses. 

When he returned, Remus noticed that he was just as nervous and jittery, scarred hands trembling as they poured the water. He took it gratefully and downed half of it in one go, sighing as the coolness eased some of the burning thirst. 

“Now that you’re more or less aware, let’s try introductions again." There was that funny, awkward smile again, and Remus felt a bit of the tension ease. Anyone who was this nervous couldn't be all bad. "I’m Newt Scamander. My friends and I found you on the streets here in New York City and took you in to help. No one is going to hurt you and we’re just trying to help.”

Remus took a long moment to process. This entire situation had just gone eight more directions of insane. He recognized the name, he recognized the city. And unless there was some nutter out there naming their children after the long dead magizooligist, it was just fucking impossible. Weakly, he returned the favor and introduced himself, “Remus Lupin. I have no bloody clue on how I ended up here.” 

 

*~*~*


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I skip ahead after the first part of this chapter, but I wanted to move it along a bit. :) I hope it's smooth enough to not be irritating, and if it is, lmk and I can do some tweaking. I needed to get some backstory in to explain the changes to Newt's storyline, but I was feeling like it could drag on more than I really had the patience for. Thank you guys so much for the comments and kudos!!! Holy cow, it's so awesome! Thank you for pointing out the thing with Newt still being alive in Remus's time, I think I fixed it <3 ;) I really hope I don't disappoint you guys...

*~*~*

            Tina stared down at the pile of paperwork on her desk, her eyes mournful and dark as she contemplated the ramifications of aiding and abetting an unregistered werewolf. She was already in hot water, her position of auror gone the way of the four winds because of her own brash stupidity, and lucky that it was only a demotion instead of complete unemployment. Damn Newt Scamander and his stupid way of making her think past the regulations and rules. He was right, and she _hated_ to admit it. Turning the teenage werewolf into MACUSA wasn’t the best route for him, at least not right now. She’d been wrong about her superiors before and it had cost her, big.

            She picked up the endless ink pen Queenie had gotten her for Christmas, the sterling silver oddly heavy in her hand as she continued to stare down at the papers, not really seeing them. He’d been bleeding. The boy, when they’d discovered him in that alleyway, he’d been drenched in blood and rapidly losing more. Her sister had told her his name was Remus, and Tina couldn’t help but find the irony a bit much. Did his parents give him that name, she wondered idly, or was it a name he’d taken on when he’d been infected?

            An image of Newt moving his wand over the still form, bones audibly cracking back together and joints squelching back into place while her sister held the boys head against her thighs came to Tina’s mind and she felt her stomach turn. Mercy Lewis, it was a wonder he was still alive after all that. Or crippled. She’d seen older, more fit men come out of injuries like that with permanent damage. Would he heal all right? Was a future of dependency in his cards? Magic could only go so far.

            “Goldstein! Hey, you okay?” Tina startled and managed to knock over a pile of papers, looking wide-eyed up at the only other wand-permit clerk on duty for the afternoon.

            “Y-yeah,” she stammered, kneeling down to gather the mess. “Just not feeling all that swell.”

            “Better not be getting that bug going ‘round.” The conversation was banal, but it flowed well enough and gave Tina something else to focus on. It died off after a while, both the workers finally diving into the paperwork hell. Tina mindlessly moved through the forms, but soon found her thoughts meandering back toward their original target.

            It was all Newt Scamander’s fault, she groused irritably. And her sister’s insistence that the man take up their spare room, despite the danger of being kicked out by Mrs. Abernathy. Finding a gawking, attractive man with a strange suitcase in the middle of Central Park shouldn’t have been enough for Queenie to haul him home. She knew her sister had a soft spot the size of Manhattan, especially for damaged strays. Once Tina had realized exactly _what_ was inside that damn case, she hadn’t been able, in good conscience, to let Mr. Scamander loose in the city. Queenie, bless her, had looked at her with those wide, guileless eyes and convinced her that it was a Bad Idea to turn him in to her superiors at MACUSA. The best thing to do, in her baby sister’s opinion, was to let him stay a few days to get his bearings, then send him off to Arizona where he could take care of putting ‘Frank’ out where he was supposed to be. That had been nearly two weeks ago and her sister had been making excuse after excuse for them to delay sending him off. Tina had noticed the magizoologist had been getting increasingly twitchy the longer he was in one place and knew that it wasn’t entirely his idea to linger.

            On a side note, who the hell named a thunderbird Frank? A ridiculously awkward, equally adorable Newt Scamander, that’s who. He was almost as bad at convincing her to do stupid things as Queenie was. Now she was harboring a werewolf with unknown origins and potentially crippling injuries. Lord and Lady, she had absolutely no clue how she was going to get herself out of this one.

*~*~*

            Remus took the potions Newt handed him a bit reluctantly at first, not quite trusting anything right at the moment. He still hadn’t wrapped his brain around the fact that the man standing over him should be toward the end of his insanely long life. His earlier thought of him being long dead had been replaced by a remembered argument he’d had with James and Sirius over that very topic. In a rare moment, he’d been proven wrong. It had taken a trip to the library and then a shouted question to McGonagall that had resulted in points being taken away for raising their voices in class, but he’d been left with no choice but to concede. They hadn’t let him live it down for _weeks_.

            He’d recognized the distinctive features from the portrait on the back of his old text book, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. They had never updated the picture, keeping the one that had been taken in the man’s mid-forties. Newt hadn’t changed very much between this age and that one, the uncomfortable expression easy to recognize. Trying to figure out the logistics of how this all came about was making Remus’s head hurt, and he was trying to figure out exactly how much he should tell and how much he should keep to himself.

            It had occurred to him that this entire ordeal might just be a way to get him to talk, to break down barriers and build up a trust before coming through with the devastating blow. It was elaborate and hardly seemed appropriate to bring out on a simple Hogwarts student with hardly any links to the war effort as yet. They hadn’t even graduated yet. If it was a ruse, why choose him? His mother was a muggle, his father a disinherited son of a pureblood family that made his living as a muggle literary professor, and he, himself a registered werewolf. Hardly worth the time, even to amuse themselves with a bit of psychological torment. He could see Sirius as a better candidate for this kind of treatment. It would be worth a lot more to the cause to bring home the wayward son.

            But that wasn’t possible. Remus felt his chest tighten as grief hit him hard. If this wasn’t all a hallucination, Sirius was dead. His head swam, vision going blurry. _Blood blossomed across the white uniform shirt Sirius hadn’t changed out of before they’d snuck off to their camping spot. The sectumsempra hex cutting through his chest and stomach, it was shouted again, and again until the other boy fell to his knees, blood flooding his mouth._

            “Remus, I need you to take a breath.” He was surprised to open his eyes to see Newt kneeling in front of him, hands resting firmly on his shoulders. “You’ll make yourself sick if you don’t. Come on, that’s it. Breathe in.”

            Obedient, Remus sucked in an unsteady breath, but it came out in a sob. “You’re all right,” Newt murmured and guided Remus’s head down to rest between his knees. He stroked the back of his head, soothing as he would one of his creatures. “Just breathe for a moment. You’re safe as houses here, no one can hurt you. I’ve got you.”

            The dizziness cleared, but everything was still tight and horrible. His thoughts pinged from Sirius to James and Peter, back to Sirius. Remembered screams rang in his ears and he gagged at the thought of his best friends in the hands of Voldemort’s followers. Sirius… _Bloody_ _fucking Christ._ Remus remembered the night that Sirius had come to live with the Potters, the urgent floo message begging for Remus to come right away. The bruises and the dark magic poisoning that had taken weeks to completely purge and the clingy way the other boy hadn’t wanted him out of his sight. The tears when he’d had to leave even for a short time. If his own mother would do such things, what about the others who had no immediate blood tie to him?

            “That’s right, take deep breaths, it’s going to be fine.” The steady drone of the other man’s voice was surprisingly comforting, washing over him like a mantra. He lifted up to rest his elbows on his thighs, sucking in air as he tried to focus on bringing back his center of calm. It was something he’d developed out of necessity when he was very small as a way to control the volatile emotions that seemed to fly out at the least provocation, the balance between human and wolf not established yet. His father, composed, controlled, and almost emotionless in his son’s eyes, had taught him all the tricks he knew. His mother, however, had taught him even more. Using his magical core as his father had instructed, he’d built a mental barrier and reinforced it with the good feelings his mother had urged him to use. She’d been afraid that he would become cold and distant and insisted that it wasn’t necessary to cut off all emotions, just those that fed the violent urges his wolf brought out.

            That’s why Sirius had always been drawn to him, craving that tranquil, cultivated ease. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to push away the stinging tears. Just as Remus had needed the brash, loud, and dramatic antics of his dormmates, he’d been their restful center.

            “It’s not going to be fine,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “It’s not, because I’m not anywhere near home, and my friends are all gone. Sirius… they g-gutted him.”

            To his credit, Newt didn’t flinch away, instead he wrapped his long fingers around Remus’s wrists and held them still as he repeated, “You are safe here, Remus. We will figure this all out and we will find what happened with your friends, yes? You aren’t alone.”

            “You don’t know what you’re saying,” Remus sighed. “You have no idea.”

            There was a light knock on the doorframe and Queenie poked her head in, her smile bright as she saw Remus awake. “Hello, dolls. I made up some chicken soup for dinner. I thought it would be nice and easy on a touchy tummy.”

            “Are you hungry,” Newt asked, not moving from his spot kneeling in front of him, as if knowing that sudden moves were not a good idea right at the moment. Remus nodded, though the thought of food made his stomach turn. It was a distraction, and a welcome one.

            “Do you think you can make it upstairs, or should we eat down here?” Queenie could see the indecision on the boy’s face. He knew he couldn’t easily make it anywhere without help, but the need to check out the entirety of his situation was just as vital. Frustration flashed across his face and she felt a pang of sympathy. She’d seen this sort of behavior from seasoned aurors after a particularly painful altercation. She’d seen _Tina_ in the same state as she tried to recover from an injury, even when it was her own sister caring for her. They were on the brink of war, yes, but it hadn’t gone as far as to include such young combatants.

            Hard pressed not to notice the young man’s dilemma, Newt patted his uninjured knee gently and rose to his feet. “I believe we can get you upstairs, young sir. It would require a bit of maneuvering and levitation charms, but it can be done.”

            Remus’s face went scarlet and it was on the tip of his tongue to tell them it wasn’t a problem to stay where they were, that he was fine not going up just yet. But something else entirely was telling him that he wasn’t going to be able to rest until he saw the boundaries of his new sanctuary. He nodded and allowed Newt to help him unsteadily to his feet.

*~*~*

            It took a week of rest and quiet conversations before Remus was healed enough to even attempt leaving the quiet of Tina and Queenie’s apartment and the golden comfort of Newt’s case. It was much more difficult to mentally prepare himself for it than he’d thought and the first ten minutes of the noise and bustle of the city made his heart beat triple time and his hands go cold and shaky. Everything was going so fast, everyone shouting so loud, even the random animals slinking along the streets were swift and darting.

            He’d grown up in the countryside, in a little cottage on the outskirts of a small muggle township in Wales where he’d been homeschooled for the first years of his life before Hogwarts. It had been safer to remain on the outside where no one would think to look too closely at the timing of Remus’s ‘sickness’. Being so far out of town on a good chunk of wooded property meant that there were no close neighbors to get involved if anything went awry turning the full moons. There were layers upon layers of permanent muffling charms about the house and immediate gardens, and a silencing charm was refreshed every month during ‘that time’, but isolation was the only safe bet.

            When he’d gone to Hogwarts, it had been a bit of a system shock to the eleven-year-old. London had been a frightening experience all on its own, and when added to the terror of leaving home for the first time in his life, he still had no idea how he’d managed to muster the balls to go through with it. Frightened to even speak with the other children, having been lectured within an inch of his young life about keeping to himself for the safety of the other students and out of fear of being found out and expelled, he’d found an empty compartment toward the back and prayed no one else would want to share it with him. The gods had been kind to him that day and ignored every single word he’d uttered to them. When Sirius Black, James Potter, and Peter Pettigrew all barged in, one after another, after another, it had changed _everything_.

            But that didn’t change the fact that Hogwarts was, by its very nature, a boarding school built in the wild isolation of magical Scotland and most definitely _not_ part of a city. Through the next seven years, Remus had only been to London a handful of times, and all of it had resulted in an anxiety induced migraine and an early trip back home. When he tried to explain that to Newt, however, it had been brushed aside absently with a half-smile and something about needing to get some fresh air and exercise to continue the healing process.

            So, stomach jumpy and palms clammy with nerves, Remus found himself following his new guardian of sorts into the overwhelming streets of New York City. It hadn’t left his mind that being a lycanthrope had only stopped being illegal in wizarding Europe in the late forties, still a good twenty some years away, and it had taken another twenty after that to gain the rights to a legal wand or any sort of magical education. In fact, Remus had been the very first werewolf to ever have attended Hogwarts, and that hinged solely on Professor Dumbledore’s firm stance on making it happen. Tina had reinforced the MACUSA laws on werewolf rights, but to be honest, it hadn’t eased his mind any.

            He didn’t have any documentation, as a wizard or a werewolf. Hell, even as a muggle in this time period he didn’t exist. Newt and the Goldstein sisters believed him about the time travel, but he had a feeling it would be a quick and easy way for him to get locked up in the mental ward to try and explain this to the American magical government.

            Besides that, he’d been forced to use a bloody cane to get around. Something had gone wrong with his knee and it hadn’t healed properly, leaving him with a painful limp until the next full moon. Humiliated, he’d tried to argue against leaving the apartment just yet, but instead he’d been presented with a stylish black cane transfigured from a tree branch. Dougal had oohed in approval, the demiguise petting Remus’s leg soothingly. He’d been a little put out when he’d realized that his two-legged cub was actually going to be leaving him to go outside, but he’d been all for the accepting of the walking aide. When Queenie had squealed and clapped her hands over her heart at the sight of him in a new set of clothes more appropriate for their time and neighborhood, he’d blushed but smiled sheepishly.

            Now, as he stood on the steps of the muggle bank, he was horror-struck by the veiled hate-speech spouted by a prim, dark-clad woman clutching a black leather-bound book to her chest and a stack of off-white printed flyers. His stomach churned as he was reminded of the protestors that had gathered on the steps of Gringotts and in the lobby of the Ministry when more legislation for lycanthropic rights had been passed. The new law prohibiting employers from discriminating against werewolves had gone through when he was fifteen, right when it was time for the annual trip into Diagon Alley for his school supplies. It hadn’t been received well.

            “They are luring our children,” the woman said earnestly, her voice compelling as it fell over the crowd. “I am telling you, witches are very real and they are right here under your noses. They practice dark arts and poison our very souls.” There was more, but Remus stopped listening. He looked around at the people listening, happy to see that most of them were laughing, nudging their companions and adding their own jeering comments. But there were a couple people looking on with thoughtful expressions, and that was what frightened him. Hadn’t they learned from their own history of witch trials? That dark time in their past couldn’t have been completely erased.

            Remus’s own five(or so)-times-great grandmother had been executed during the burning times, the irony of it all being that it was on his muggle mother’s side. There hadn’t been any magic to the old woman, or most of the others caught up in the frenzy. All of the people with actual wizarding blood had gone to ground in their own heavily warded lands. There were a few notable exceptions to the rule, but there was a very good reason why muggles were to be kept at a distance.

            The American witches hadn’t been as lucky. Their communities hadn’t been as established and those who had come over too early had been mostly eradicated. As such, Remus figured, it explained why they were more tolerant of werewolves than they were of breaking the statute of secrecy. Especially if there were _still_ fanatics out there like this woman. Her eyes had latched onto Newt, and him as a secondary.

            “You, sir, what do you think about witches? Do you believe they are among us?”

            Just as Newt was awkwardly trying to muster a response that wouldn’t cause a scene, Remus heard the tell-tale click of the case being unlatched. His attention snapped down, but it was too late and before he could warn his companion or lunge after the dark-furred menace, the niffler was disappearing into the bank. “The niffler,” he muttered to Newt, but the other man had already spied it and was darting up the steps and past the group of fanatics.

            Remus started to follow, but was stopped by the woman stepping into his path, a sadistic twist to her mouth, “What about you, young man? How aware are you of the sinful dangers of witchcraft?”

            Caught, Remus felt for a moment as if everything were screeching to a halt. Black, pitiless eyes searched his face and fell on the old, visible scars ruining the line of his cheek and jawline. They continued, looking for and finding more on his neck and shoulder as they disappeared into the collar of his shirt. Her breath came faster and her lips parted, fingers tightening on the book in her hands.

            “You’ve been marked,” she breathed, and Remus felt a tingle go through him. “You, of all people should heed my warnings! They have marked you with their evil, and they won’t rest until they’ve finished the job!”

            She turned to the suddenly much more interested crowd, seizing Remus’s shoulder in a sudden, punishing grip to spin him around to face them. The cane clattered to the steps and the abrupt motion tweaked his knee, making him grit his teeth in pain. The faces staring back at him wore a mix of surprise, pity, and anger. “Look at what their evil has done! No human could have made these marks! A beast was sent to rend this poor child! A beast that is stalking our streets as we speak.”

            Remus wrenched himself out of her grasp, but in doing so overbalanced and fell on the hard concrete with a grunt. He’d known this had been a very bad idea. “You’re insane,” he managed through gritted teeth, anger quickly overcoming fear, then repeated louder, “You're bloody insane! This is utter nonsense! Do you make a habit of accosting innocents on the streets? No, don’t touch me!”

            One of the woman’s helpers had come to help him to his feet, but Remus jerked his arm out of the other boy’s hands before finding his cane and pulling himself back to his feet. Some of that anger deflated when he really looked at his fellow teenager, eyes assessing and coming to the conclusion that he was probably the one who carried the brunt of this woman’s madness. It was all there in his posture, in the ragged severity of his clothes and haircut. It was in the way those dark eyes burned into him, taking in Remus’s own injuries and old scars. There was a moment of connection where everything else kind of faded out. Then there was a snapped, “Credence!” and the moment was gone. The other boy flinched and stepped back, fingers crinkling the flyers in his hands, gaze falling to the ground out of habit. Remus's chest twinged at the reminder of how Sirius used to act when his family came to gather him from the station during their early years.

            “Remus!” Tina was rushing up the steps then, face white with worry as she saw how he was clutching at the cane and trying to bring his breathing back under control. “Remus, are you okay? What happened?”

            “This nutter grabbed me,” he grumbled, stiffening when Tina went to put her arm around his waist to help him. He glared at Mary Lou and felt a fission of fear curl around his spine at the steady way she stared at him. “Going on about witches and evil. If I wanted to hear such rubbish, I would’ve stayed in Scotland!” There was a tittering of laughter and her lips thinned.

            “Where’s Newt,” Tina hissed as they made their way further up the steps and away from the crowd. “I thought you two were going to meet me for lunch? He shouldn’t have left you alone.”

            “I’m fine. The niffler got loose and darted into the bank, which is a _brilliant_ place for him,” Remus told her, irritation lacing every word. “Newt dashed off after him. You’d better go do damage control. I bloody well can’t run after them, and in a place like this, he’s probably needing some help.”

            Tina looked undecided, but there was a shout and a crash from inside and she quickly guided him to sit on a handy bench. “You stay put. I’ll be back.”

            “Wait!” He deflated back with a disgruntled sigh. He didn’t want to stay put. Who knew how long it was going to take to gather that nuisance away from all the shiny things. He rubbed at his face and then looked back out to where the group of religious fanatics were trying to salvage their rally. It looked like it was a lost cause for the day, most of their gathered crowd moving on after getting their afternoon laugh. He found himself looking at the boy who’d tried to help him, studying the way he stood and moved. Head down, feet planted rather awkwardly, broad shoulders hunched, both hands holding the useless flyers as if they were made of solid gold. Remus wondered if he actually believed any of the shite being spouted.

            Credence. _Belief in or acceptance of something as true_. Not that Remus had any room to judge, being that his first name indicated being raised by wolves, and his last literally meant wolf. Foreshadowing had been a talent his parents had come to regret. He wondered if Credence was a name given to the other boy at birth, or if it was something that horrible woman had assigned him. He was betting on the latter.

            As if feeling his eyes on him, Credence looked over his shoulder at him, their eyes meeting briefly before he turned back around with a visible jerk. Remus leaned his head back and stared up at the overhang above him. He just wanted to go home.

 

*~*~*  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another quick note. I've only watched the movie once in the theaters, so from here on this is my take on the story :D Things get changed and I make shit up off the top of my head and try to make it sound reasonable. And I'm not entirely happy with how the first part of this chapter flows with the second, but I hope it works...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It bears repeating, often. I. Love. You. Thank you all for reading this and letting me know how much you like it! So much with the awesome! Lol, it really does help me overcome my innate attention problems to settle in and write on this. It's kind of a writer's challenge for me to sit down and work on this a little bit each day, and I'm so glad that people are reading and enjoying it. :D  
> Little note here, this chapter is more intense angst. <3

*~*~*  

            Percival had known that his situation could be worse, but his only excuse in not really _believing_ it would actually get there was the fact that he hadn’t been able to force himself to go past the already unbearable torment he had already suffered. As he lay back in his tiny cell, all of his nerve endings twitching and on fire from the malicious, prolonged use of the _cruciatus_ curse, he harbored no illusions. They _had_ done something to his eyes, he thought almost idly as lights sparked in the blackness of his prison. He had followed the wall for what felt like hours, not feeling any sort of change; no bend, no corner, no open space. Everything had remained pitch-black the entire time.

            Eventually his weakened body had given out and he’d sat with his back to the cold, metallic material, face in his hands as he fought the urge to scream. Why the fuck couldn’t they have just killed him? The mysterious _they_. He had no clue who’d taken him, there were no faces or voices to even try to decipher. He didn’t remember anything about the day he’d been taken, even though he knew that he must have been at the office, or near it because he was still dressed in his work clothes. When he forced himself to, he could remember getting ready for bed. Showering, dressing in soft cotton, slipping into bed with a book and a cup of whiskey-laced tea. Then, nothing.

            His captor had found Percival rather quickly once he’d given up and curled up in an exhausted, pathetic ball. The laugh that echoed and nearly swallowed him up was harsh and grating, making him jolt and flinch back. The voice that addressed him then in that mocking, cruel tone had been his own. The accent was wrong, and while he knew he could be a right bastard, he didn’t think he was capable of that level of cold cruelty.

            Then the real fun had begun. Like a true pureblood wizard, his keeper hadn’t had to lay a finger on him to inflict the maximum amount of pain. Percival had lost track everything but the mind-numbing agony as his pain receptors had gone off the charts time after time after time. When it had finally stopped, he’d been back in the same tiny space as he’d started, tasting copper and twitching as if he’d been pushed through one of the no-maj electricity boxes. There was a smell of urine and he managed to curl himself into a miserable ball. There was a point where humiliation was merely one more thing on a list of unbearable circumstances.

            At least he was capable of more or less coherent thought. Small comfort, that. In his years as an auror, he’d seen more than his share of dark magic abuse that had resulted in a person’s mind snapping irreparably. _“Daddy, no! Mister, please, he didn’t mean to do it! Mama just made him so_ mad _. Please!”_ The picture that came with that memory was of a blue-eyed, raven-haired girl of ten, covered in filth and blood as he drug her abusive, alcoholic father out of their shack on the outskirts of the territory. Her face was bruised and lip busted.

            Percival raised his aching arms to cradle his head, rocking back and forth unconsciously as the locks fell away from memory after memory he’d forced himself to forget. Even as he recognized the enhanced and dark-modified memory charm, he fell victim to it.

            _“So, you want to remember, do you? I’ll help you to remember. It’s too bad that your peers can’t, isn’t it? Maybe if you weren’t such an insufferable arse, they would pay more attention. You made this much easier than it should have been, Percy. Really.”_

_The flashing green light flew through the night air, hitting Lindsey square in the chest, throwing him back a good three feet. His partner was dead before he hit the ground. Seeing her brother at the funeral, gray eyes shining with tears. His pale face going a livid red when he saw Percival, then the crunch of his nose being broken. “Your fault, Graves! It was your fault!”_

_The boy watched with hunched shoulders as Percival manhandled Goldstein away from the unconscious heap of his abusive mother. He flinched from the shouts, his eyes so dark and wounded, asking for help. He'd been frightened, but had stood barrier between the strangers and his sisters, who were staring out at him, white faced but calm. He felt sick as he held his wand up and whispered, "Obliviate." It wasn't their place to step into no-maj affairs. Goldstein had been out of line._

            He whimpered as the memories carried him further back, deeper and deeper until it was all one bloody, horrible mess.

*~*~*

            _Remus_. Credence stared up at the ceiling over his lumpy cot, eyes unblinking. Ma had been in a coldly furious mood for the rest of the day after the disaster at the bank downtown. Thankfully, she’d been too busy to focus her attention solely on the children in her immediate care and with some maneuvering, Credence had managed to keep himself and Modesty out of her line of sight. It had to be done just right or she’d see right through it and the backlash would be so much worse. Keeping to quiet but necessary chores in separate areas of the church had helped, the older boy making sure that his sister was furthest out of sight.

            Dinner had been silent and tense, all of them pacing their intake as to not be too slow or too fast, eyes on their plates. Ma had taken her own meal in the room she’d designated as her office, but with Chastity on watch, there was still little room to relax. She was Ma’s eyes and ears, and she was almost as unforgiving. After they’d eaten and the dishes were washed and put away, they’d gone to their studies, then directly to bed.

            The others were sleeping, exhausted by the strict regimen their adoptive mother put forth for them. Credence, however, was wide awake, thoughts running rampant of the strange, scarred boy that had stood up to his mother without any outward fear. If it had been anyone else, he would have thought it was because they were just ignorant of how dangerous Mary Lou really was. If it had been someone whole, unscarred and untouched by violence, it wouldn’t have been so remarkable. But he wasn’t. The scars weren’t just on his face.

            When Credence had crouched to help him, he’d been close enough to see where the collar of Remus’s shirt had fallen aside to show faint, healing bruises that were just in the final pale yellow and green. The welted cuts hadn’t been too far off from barely closed. When his hand had touched the other boy’s arm, a jolt of hot awareness had numbed his fingers. It was more than just touching… more than a connection with someone who he thought might share his hell. It was something more akin to a physical reaction to… to something otherworldly. It reminded him now of how it felt when Mr. Graves touched him. That tell-tale feel of cold static electricity dancing along his fingers. When their eyes had met, he’d been sucked into the wide, warm amber-green and everything else had disappeared.

            Restlessly turning in his bed, Credence tried to push it away, to not think of it. That path led to bad places, places that would earn him an extra beating if he wasn’t careful. _Sinful abomination!_ His eyes filled and he buried his face in his thin pillow. Ma already knew that he wasn’t _normal_ , that he wasn’t… that he didn’t… The burning in his stomach became too much and he silently slipped out of bed. It wasn’t smart to be up after lights out. If his Ma saw that his bed was empty, she’d lose her mind. He couldn’t just lie there anymore, it was too much. The energy was swimming just under his skin, the darkness that made everything go away. It couldn’t come out here. When it came out, people and things got hurt. He had to think of his little sister.

            He dressed, leaving his belt off because he felt sick when he touched it. If he had his way, he would never wear it. After checking that the entire house was dark and everyone was sleeping, he slipped out the attic window and down the rickety stairs to the street below.

 

*~*~*

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG! So sorry this took so long to get back to, I've been dealing with a bit of a life crisis that's just now working itself out. I should be getting back into a better frame of mind to get back into my writing projects. <3 Thank you so much for all the support you guys have tossed my way! I can't even come close to expressing how much it means to me.

*~*~*

          Remus couldn’t remember when he’d been in the middle of this much open chaos. Not even trying to keep up with the Marauders had been this exhausting, and the four of them had certainly put themselves, their classmates, and their professors through their paces. Newt had lost his case. He had fucking lost his Merlin-be-damned case, the thing getting switched up with a muggle’s case of sweets. Of course, that simple action had saved their butts when one of the American aurors had accosted Newt coming out of the bank with Horace, the niffler tucked safely under his arm.

          Of course, Remus hadn’t been there because he’d been waiting impatiently at the front of the bank where Tina had left him. It hadn’t been the most entertaining three hours of his life, and when Queenie had sheepishly waved at him as she came up the bank steps, he’d tried not to be too annoyed. The golden-haired witch had slipped a companionable arm around his waist and was nice enough to pretend that it wasn’t to steady his aching body as they maneuvered the steps. She’d taken him to a muggle, or what she called no-maj, café for dinner and explained everything that had happened.

          Apparently, Tina had to talk fast to keep Newt from getting arrested and herself fired. It had helped that the overachieving auror that had accosted Newt had a reputation for being a bit overzealous and a ‘brown-noser’, which Queenie had giggled when he’d looked confused at the term. She’d explained that it was an expression that meant he was a suck up. Remus had stopped her from going any further, getting the reference immediately. It had been even better when the Director of Magical Security had opened the case to see a sampler of different baked goods instead of the undetectable expansion charms and possible illegal magical creature he’d been told to expect. 

          Director Graves had not been amused and had sent the auror off with a stern lecture on wasting their time when it could be better spent figuring out what was destroying half their city and endangering the statute of secrecy. Queenie had then grinned and said that Tina and Newt had gotten off with what they called the ‘Graves Glare’ around the office and an order for Tina to do her job and make sure the magizoologist had all his permits in order.

          “That man is certainly not in his position to gain friends, is he,” Remus had muttered, taking a long pull of the sugared cola he’d ordered with his food. It wasn’t something he had often, since carbonated beverages weren’t included in the wizarding food list. Unless you counted fizzy potions, and those weren’t all they were cracked up to be.

          Queenie looked thoughtful as she poked at her mashed potatoes with the edge of her fork. “He didn’t used to be such an ass. Something changed. He and Tinnie used to be on decent terms; he’s the one that trained her, you know. As a MACUSA mentor during Tina’s last year at Ilvermorny, they got on really well. He’s the one that encouraged her to become an auror in the first place. Then when the Barebone thing happened, he acted like nothing was wrong for a couple months before calling her into his office to tell her she’d been demoted. Waiting that long was just cruel, and honestly I didn’t think he had it in him to be like that.”

          Remus pushed his plate back and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “So, what is the plan now?”

          Queenie gave him a smile and said, “You’re gonna hang out with me back at my place while my sister and Newt try to get his case back.”

          “Queenie, I don’t-”

          “Listen, sweetie, you’re not at your peak right now, and I have a feelin’ this adventure of ours is just getting started. Why don’t we let them get this part of the business taken care of? We can be ready when it’s time, okay?”

          Remus scowled, fingers scrunching his napkin and eyebrows lowering as he realized what she was doing, “Don’t patronize me. I get it that I’m a liability right now, and…”

          Queenie laughed and reached to squeeze his hand, “You really are a peach, Remus. You know I didn’t mean it that way, you’re just comin’ up with reasons to be grumpy. Well, it won’t work with me. C’mon now, let’s go home and I’ll whip up a chocolate pie and tell you all about how our version of magical society works.”

          Left with no other option but to follow, Remus got up and slowly followed her to the front where he slipped past to stand outside to wait. He considered going off without her, but figured it was a waste of time and effort. He hated feeling like he was just standing around, waiting for the other shoe to drop. There was a restlessness tingling under his skin and having the limited mobility was making it even worse. Leaning against the brick wall of the café, he rested his head back and blinked up at the dark sky. There weren’t any stars here, and it made him so homesick his chest ached. He missed his friends, he missed the cold, drafty halls of his school, and he missed his mum. He wanted Sirius to slide up next to him and put his arm around his waist, for the shorter boy to snuggle in to share body heat. He wanted to see that crooked, stupid, cocky grin so badly that it was a near physical pain.

          As Queenie came out of the door, he braced himself and pushed away from the wall. When she took his arm, he bit back a sigh and followed her into a nearby alleyway and let her apparate them both back to her neighborhood.

*~*~*

          When Newt and Tina returned home much later that night, with another man wobbling a bit beside them, Remus decided he needed to take a walk and get some clear air. He and Queenie had been talking almost nonstop since she’d rescued him from the bench outside the bank and he was in near desperate need of a few minutes alone to process. While everyone was distracted, he tried to slip out, only to be stopped by Newt’s gentle hand on his shoulder.

          “Be careful and stay very close, yeah?”

          Surprised that the redhead wasn’t going to stop him, Remus nodded gratefully and offered a half-smile as he finally got away. The moment he was far enough away from the anti-apparation wards, he popped outside the building to avoid the landlady he’d been warned about, and the plethora of fucking stairs that seemed to be everywhere. He took a moment to reorient, picked a direction, and then started walking. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was going, but not overly worried about getting lost. He had a good picture of the Goldstein’s neighborhood and their apartment building in particular as an apparation point.

          The night air was nice, even if it held the bite of cold that he’d thought was behind him. Back at Hogwarts, in his own time, it’d been late spring and the weather had finally warmed up from the brutal Scottish winter. Remus hated the cold and all the deep aches it brought with it. Most of the time he could ward it off with warming charms and layers upon layers of thick clothing, but when he was recovering from the full moon, nothing helped.

          Full moon wasn’t until next week, he’d checked the moment he’d been fully aware of exactly how screwed his timeline was. For a moment, he allowed the pinch of self-pity as he kicked at a stray rock. It wasn’t fair that technically he’d be going through three transformations in one month; the first one happening the week before the ill-fated camping trip, then the one forced on him by Death Eaters, and finally the upcoming one. His sigh was heavy as he tried looking up at the sky, again trying to find the stars. He wasn’t sure if his body could recover fast enough to keep up with it, especially if his knee was anything to go by.

          The smell of forest and green things was slowly starting to creep up on him and he quickened his pace at the prospect of being out of the concrete for a while, even if it wasn’t necessarily out of the city. There were fewer people out here too, which seemed to almost be too good to be true at this point. By the time, he made it into the park proper, his entire leg was aching and he was irritated by the rush of relief he felt when he saw the park bench in front of the sparkling black water of a fountain.

          Sitting down heavily, he rested the cane against the bench next to him and rubbed at his swollen knee. Maybe he’d been a bit overzealous. Jamie would have shouted at him by now, then offered to carry Remus on his back the rest of the way home. _Fuck._

          Biting back sudden tears, Remus kept his face down as more heavy grief settled painfully in his chest. He kept thinking of home, of the boys that hadn’t made it out of the forest, of his life that would never actually go like he’d planned. That flat waiting for them in Godric’s Hollow just a block down from James and Lily would never welcome him and Sirius after graduation. There would be no graduation ceremony at all, for that matter. He wouldn’t be standing in as person of honor for Lily while his boyfriend stood for James. There would be no missions for the order, and no attending his mother’s surprise birthday dinner. Features crumbling as his eyes finally overflowed, Remus buried his face in his hands and let go of the tightly wound emotion that had been brewing all day. 

          Wrapped up in his own misery, he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps, or the quiet gasp that carried over the night air.

*~*~*

          The boy from the bank steps was on his bench. Credence’s steps faltered as he realized that his usual getaway was already occupied, and not by some random stranger. He stood frozen, wondering what the other boy- Remus, he reminded himself- was doing out here at this late hour. Central Park wasn’t necessarily the safest place in the city after dark, but it was quiet and for the most part, no one bothered with Credence. Not usually, anyway. In his darkest thoughts, he’d somewhat hoped someone would take offense to him being there and take him out of his misery one day. It was no less than he deserved for disobeying Ma and being out after hours, anyway.

          As he watched, the tawny haired boy seemed to double over, his broad shoulders shaking as he buried his face in his hands. The muffled sound of sobs carried through the quiet air, and Credence felt a rush of sympathy. Drawn in despite himself, he made his way closer, unable to resist a pull that he didn’t understand. It was as if there was an invisible tug, drawing him closer. He remembered the spark he’d felt earlier when they’d touched, that same kind of _magic_ spark he felt when Mr. Graves touched him.

          _Abomination!_ Credence could hear Mary Lou’s voice harsh in his ears, making them ring with the phantom rage. His fingers jerked at the echo of the lashings that had torn his skin just a day before. He couldn’t stop himself from stepping closer, from clearing his throat awkwardly to draw attention to his presence.

         When the handsome face looked up, tears glistening like starlight on his surprised features, Credence almost forgot how to breathe. The broken look of desolate grief was quickly smoothed as Remus ducked his face again, wiping at his face quickly.

         “A-are you okay,” Credence found himself asking. He knew he should turn right around and go back the way he came. He should forget all about this scarred, sad boy and go back to his own corner of purgatory. There was nothing he could do to help, no matter the problem. He would probably just make it worse, whatever it was. He remembered how it felt to have people walk away from him just when he needed them the most, how lonely it was. He remembered the healing slashes on the other boy’s collarbone and shoulder. He thought of his own healing scars and walked closer, hesitantly taking the open seat on the bench.

         The other boy sighed and leaned back, gingerly resting his spine against the cool iron. He tipped his head up to look at the sky and Credence couldn’t help but stare at the perfect curve of his jawline, the long column of his pale neck. “You can’t really see the stars here,” Remus said after a long moment, his voice flowing through the darkness like a balm. Credence shivered and shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweater to stop himself from reaching out. “Not like you can at home. I thought that if I could see the stars, I could at least see Sirius up there and maybe feel a little less bloody alone.”

        There was a lingering pain to his tone, and Credence felt himself drawn in to it. “I- I come here when I can’t sleep.” Was that his voice, sounding so unsure and pathetic?

        “When you can escape from the dungeons, you mean?” Credence jolted at the words, eyes wide as he wondered how…

        Remus sighed and rubbed at his face wearily. When he looked back over at Credence, there was an understanding without pity; something he had never seen on anyone before. “I’m sorry. I’m in a bit of a mood and I didn’t mean to take it out on you. You remind me of someone. He had the same type of… parenting… I guess you could call it. He had the same look to him when it was time for holidays. I’m Remus, by the way.”

        “C-Credence.” The other boy didn’t offer to shake hands and the mix of relief and disappointment coiling in Credence was so strongly contradictory that he held his breath to try to make it go away. He wanted those long fingers to curl up around his aching palms, to feel that spark of _magic_ again, like he did with Mr. Graves. Like he had when they’d touched earlier on the steps of the bank. He wondered what it would feel like to touch skin to skin and immediately felt sick. What would Ma think of these sinful, dirty thoughts? There was a part of him that expected her to erupt from the darkness, shrieking at him of damnation.

        “I heard the woman at the bank call you that,” the other boy commented, eyes soft as they seemed to look straight through him. The corner of his lips curved up, and even that little bit of a smile brightened the sorrowful cast to his features. “Right about the time Tina came rushing in. The woman’s a white knight if there ever was one, reminds me of an older, more stable version of my best mate, Jamie.”

        The pain in his voice was nearly tangible and Credence curled his fingers into a fist in his pockets to stop from reaching out. Before he could stop himself, he was asking, “Is she your foster mother?”

       Remus snorted, thought about it, then shrugged, “I guess, informally. She found me, so I guess she could be called a guardian for the time being.”

       Before Credence could ask more questions, there was a strange, audible pop of displaced air and the other boy was on his feet in a flash, a long stick suddenly clenched in his hand, held tightly against the darkness of his trousers. It left him blinking, trying to process the fact that he had moved so fast, and that he had a wand- much like the one Ma was always preaching about being one of the first signs of a witch- and the air around them had suddenly gone electric and very quiet, like it did right before a storm.

       “Credence?” Mr. Graves’s voice was even and collected, that gentle, inquiring tone that he normally brought out when they were speaking alone. “Credence, who is your friend?”

       “M-Mr. Graves!” Credence was quick to find his feet too, surging up to face the well-dressed, dark haired man hovering just inside the pool of light given off by the lamp-post several feet away. Unconsciously, he stepped closer to Remus, instinctively getting between the other teenager and the other witch, much like he did with his siblings and Ma.

*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where I read the Niffler's name as Horace, but I really liked it. I hope no one minds me using it. :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, this is so short! I wanted to do an update today and I ran out of time, so I'll post what I have and hope it's not too much of a cliffhanger. <3 As usual, I can't thank you guys enough for your support of this fic! So many epic comments and kudos! I'll try to get another chapter up tonight when I finally drag my happy butt back home from playing in the moonlight. Cheers!

 

*~*~*

          Once the drama with Mr. Kowalski had died down and he had done an extensive headcount of his creatures, Newt realized that it had been nearly three hours since Remus had slipped out of the Goldstein residence. While he had no doubt that the young man was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, the dangers of being out in New York City after dark were high on a normal evening. When taking into consideration the state of Remus’s knee and the high alert of the American wizards, it was cause for worry. He should have gotten his fresh air and time alone, then returned promptly.

          Newt glanced at his timepiece and bit back a sigh. He’d been planning on going off to look for his escaped creatures anyway, so a bit of a side adventure didn’t seem too outrageous. Mr. Kowalski… Jacob, as he’d asked to be called, looked at him questioningly as he hovered near the open window. He was positive that Tina would rather go with them to search, but she’d looked so tired at dinner and he didn’t want to be a bother. If he hadn’t regained custody of his darlings before morning, he would certainly enlist her help.

          As Jacob followed him down the fire escape and onto the street, he absently mused aloud, “Where would a young werewolf want to hide for a bit of quiet?”

          “What?” Jacob’s eyes were wide as his new friend’s words seemed to sink in. _“Werewolf?”_

          Newt hummed and glanced over, hiding a smile at the flabbergasted and somewhat incredulous look on his face. “Hmn? Yes, Remus. We need to fetch him from whatever trouble he may have found himself in. I lost track of time and he’s been gone too long for my liking. Know of any quiet, out of the way forested areas? Possibly an easily accessible park within walking distance?”

          “Yeah.” Jacob still sounded stunned and not a little confused, “Central Park. It’s got lots of space and this time of night the only people there are up to no good. It’s not a nice place after dark.”

          “Well, then, we should make haste, shouldn’t we?”

*~*~*

          Remus stared at the dark-haired wizard standing almost too casually in front of him, skin crawling with awareness. There was something off about him, about the energies that seemed to be warring between the outside and the inside. It was confusing and sent alarm bells ringing. It was as if there were two different wizarding cores fighting for one form. He didn’t know if it was because of his wolf mixing with his magic, but he’d always been sensitive to things like that. It’s what made him the top of his class in defense and dueling. It had irritated the hell out of James and Sirius that they couldn’t best him if he was aware of the oncoming attack because he seemed to always know their next move before they did. For a while during fourth year, the other boys had gone out of their way to ambush and try to get the best of him. All it had accomplished was sharpen his reflexes even more and make him paranoid.

          Credence was standing between them, his own repressed energy starting to flare and press against his skin. Remus’s heart ached, realizing that there was so much more to him that what first met the eye. Even though everything in him was shouting for him not to, he reached out and gripped Credence’s hand, jerking him back and behind. The jolt was almost painful, their individual magic almost literally sparking as he took a protective stance. There was no way he was going to let this _Mr. Graves_ hurt anyone, especially not when Remus was more than capable of standing his ground. He hoped. There was a knowing smirk growing on the older wizard’s face as he eyed the young men huddled together in front of him.

          “Credence, my boy, have you met a new friend?” The condescending, overly solicitous tone made Remus’s hackles rise and his fingers tightened on his wand, ready to fly into action if needed. He could feel Credence shaking behind him, and realized that their hands were still linked, Remus unconsciously holding the other boy right behind him, trying to block any sort of potential threat. When it seemed as if he wasn’t going to get an immediate answer from Credence, he turned his questioning to Remus. “What’s your name, boy?”

          “None of your business,” Remus bit out, his voice a warning growl as he tried not to let his lip curl.

          “Oh, I do believe it _is_ my business. Director of Magical Security for MACUSA, Percival Graves. I suggest you check the attitude at the door and give me the right answers. I can make it very difficult for you.” As he spoke, the other man stalked closer, moving with a fluid grace that set Remus’s teeth on edge. “Would you like to try again?”

          Without thinking, Remus uncharacteristically blurted the first thing that came to his mind and immediately regretted it, “Whoever and whatever the bloody fuck you are, you’re not Percival Graves.”

          The other man froze, shock smoothing out his features as he regarded Remus in a new light. A wicked, dangerous glint appeared in dark eyes and Remus had a split second to deflect the hex hurtling toward him. Lightning quick, everything changed and the standoff was over. Spells flew in a flurry, the young werewolf doing his best to deflect and continue to keep his fellow teenager from getting hit. ‘Mr. Graves’ kept up a running commentary as he advanced, slowly circling around as he almost negligently upped the viciousness of his magical attacks.

          “You’re an interesting specimen,” he all but purred as he pressed in. Remus tried to apparate out, but found that an anti-apparation ward had been dropped on the immediate vicinity. “Tell me, what gave it away? You’re not an acquaintance of our dear Percy, nor someone local to this cesspool of a city.”

          “Does that actually get you answers,” Remus challenged, finally shooting off a few offensive spells, which were deflected with an infuriating tisking sound.

          “Such insolence. If we weren’t on such a strict timeline, I’d have so much fun beating it out of you right now. As it is… _expelliaramus!_ ” The elementary dueling spell hit Remus’s wand arm, sending his wand flying off into the darkness, _“Stupefy!_ I believe it’s time for you to come with me and we can see about giving you a lesson in humility, young man.”

          The strangled shout that left Remus’s throat was pathetic as he flew back with the force of the hex, knocking into Credence, who finally seemed to snap out of the shocked immobility that had overcome him when the magic had started to fly around him. He cried out and caught the taller boy, trying to maneuver so that he was once again covering him protectively, mostly out of pure instinct. He felt the static building inside him again, the fury of betrayal finally catching up. The other man had all but admitted outright that he wasn’t who and what he’d said. He was lying. He’d been stringing Credence along, making promises that he may or may not even be able to keep. And the threat of violence wasn’t lost on him, fear and rage rising at the thought of his new friend coming under anyone’s heavy hand. The too casual phrase, _‘beating it out of you’_ rang in his ears.

          “ _No!”_

          Mr. Graves paused, standing still as he watched with dawning understanding. “Oh, this is wonderful, Credence. I can’t believe I’d missed it all this time, my lovely, lovely boy.”

*~*~*

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys love me, I know you do! Sorry so late with this, but I'm hoping to get back into the swing of writing and updating quicker. <3 You guys deserve the world! Thank you for reading this.  
> BTW, this is totally how I see a young Remus reacting to an overwhelming situation. Total sassy-pants, baby. He had to built up some snark being in such close quarters with James and Sirius all those years. ;)

*~*~*

         Percival was pulled from his pained doze as another body was thrown in next to him with enough force to cause them to collide. Automatically, he reached out to steady the other form, biting back a groan as it caused his own injuries to flare up into complete agony. It was still too dark for him to see clearly, though there was a bit of dim light coming from the opening of their tiny prison.

         A familiar voice rang out, too loud after being in silence for so long, “I’ve got a present for you, Percy. He can keep you company while I figure out what to do with him. Don’t have too much fun, you crazy kids. Daddy’ll be back soon.”

         The door was closing again before Percival could do anything about it, taking with it the dim light. Cursing under his breath, the auror felt around, trying to get a measure of who or what he was dealing with. Male, young, thin and wiry build under layers of thick clothing. His coat was missing, but he was wearing layered long sleeves- thin oxford button up under a soft sweater. His hair was longer than what was stylish for New York City, but soft and textured. Percival hesitated as his fingers brushed over the raised bumps of scars on the boy’s face and neck.

         Before he could go any further in checking for current injuries, the boy woke up with a jerk and a pained grunt. Immediately tightening his grip to steady his new cellmate and to stop him from scooting too far away, Percival said hoarsely, “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

         There was a huff of ironic laughter and a honeyed voice came back with an accented, “I think we need to reevaluate your definition of ‘okay’, mate.” There was a tingle of magic, then a soft glow came to life between the boy’s cupped palms. A quick movement and the tiny globe rose to hover over their heads, giving Percival the first glimpse of his prison in weeks. If possible, it was even more dismal than he’d imagined.

         Once his eyes adjusted to the dim but still painful light, he studied the young man sitting across from him. He was maybe seventeen at the oldest, almost pretty in his features, and a bit too calm for the situation. He looked almost resigned as he looked Percival over, cataloguing what had to be a pretty horrifying sight. He rubbed at his forehead, and sighed. “You must be the real Percival Graves. I’m Remus.”

         “Did he take your wand?” Rude as it might be, Percival was a bit beyond pleasantries. His own magic had been hampered by his surroundings and a few well-placed hexes that seemed to bottle up even his considerable talent for wandless magic. While it was great to have someone else there with him (as awful as that thought was, it was true), what good would it do to have a wet behind the ears kid to have to look after on top of everything else.

         “Of course he did,” the boy shot him a look of irritation before stretching his long legs out, grimacing as he seemed to be testing his range of movement. “But that doesn’t mean shite. Like most dark-minded egotistical twats, he’s not too concerned about an ‘inexperienced’ young wizard. Good for us, mate, but rather irritating if you think about it. What’s your status?”

         Where the fuck did this kid come from? Percival watched with growing awe as the boy brought the light closer to them to really start looking him over. He was irritated, but calm and almost resigned as he took stock of his surroundings like a seasoned auror. His foul mouth betrayed his age, and his underlying anxiety. The teen was scared, but if Percival was any less observant he’d never pick up on it. Bravado was a useless trait on its own, but he guessed it was better than utter panic.

         He blinked and realized that Remus had asked him a question, blinking, he asked, “What?”

         “What’s your status? Isn’t that what you military, auror types always ask? Do you have any outstanding injuries, spell damage? Do you know what kind of magic blocks the twat set on you?”

         _The twat._ Percival felt the horrible urge to start laughing. Hysteria, that’s what it was. Fucking hysteria. Amusement was thick in his tone as he asked, “Do you know who we’re dealing with, boy?”

         He gained an impressive sneer in return. “Better question: do I really care? Right at the moment, it doesn’t matter _who_. What matters is the situation. Whether it’s fucking Voldemort, his Death Eaters, or Gridlewald himself, it’s all the same. They’re all the same. We’re in an unknown prison, neither one of us is completely up to snuff.” While he was speaking, his voice got quicker, more agitated; less irritated and more panicked. He heaved in a shaky breath, finally breaking off while scrubbing at his face with the palms of his hands. After a moment to gather himself, he blinked over at Percival and sighed. “Do us both a favor and stop thinking of me as a barmy kid, yeah? I’m all you’ve got, so we might as well deal.”

         Realizing that the kid was right, Percival slowly moved so that he was sitting up with his back against the wall, then took a moment to really catalogue the various pain and what was likely the cause of it. “My magic’s bound, I can’t do much more than just sense the magical signatures around me. I don’t know how long I’ve been in here, but it has to have been at least a few weeks. Three of my ribs are cracked and there’s lacerations across my back, some of them might be infected, I’m not sure. There’s bruising and it feels as if my ankle’s been dislocated, at least. He feeds me once a day, just enough to keep me alive, I think.”

         Percival was relieved to see that his cooperation was calming the boy down some, the teenager arching his shoulders back to try and stretch some of the tension out of his muscles. His breathing evening out some, Remus reached up and cupped a hand around the light, dragging it with him as he scooted closer to Percival. He looked him over with a critical eye.

        “My wandless healing charms leave something to be desired,” he muttered, but offered a wry smile, “But beggars can’t be choosy, can they? Let’s see about getting you cleaned up a bit before he comes back.”

*~*~*

         Credence woke up in shades of black and gray, slowly swimming back to consciousness with the intense feeling that something was horribly wrong. It wasn’t something he could really name, not right away, not when he was so groggy. His entire body felt heavy, unwieldy and… and _wrong_. When he opened his eyes, everything was out of focus, a hazy, golden blur. Blinking to try and clear his vision, he turned his head to the side, realizing that he was lying on a sofa in front of a blazing fireplace. The rest of the room was outfitted in an expensive finery he’d only glimpsed a few times in his life, usually when accompanying Ma on their various crusades to the high appointed city officials trying to plead her case and get backing. He had never been invited inside their warmly appointed offices or libraries, usually disdainfully ordered to stand outside and wait.

          The smell of expensive tobacco smoke hit his nose and he realized he wasn’t alone, but when he tried to sit up, he found it exceedingly difficult. “Easy there, buddy,” Mr. Graves drawled, and Credence’s eyes finally found him sitting in the armchair closest to the fireplace, easily blending into the shadows as he watched him with hooded eyes. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, resting his chin on his knuckles. “You had a bit of a rough time of it earlier and I had to slip you something to calm your nerves. It should wear off soon, but I wouldn’t try to sit up too quickly.”

          Fear edged in, as did a suffocating feeling of danger. Why couldn’t he remember what happened? Everything was a nightmarish blur, the only thing he remembered was leaving his room late, after everyone else had gone to sleep. His head pounded as he tried to bring it up, but it wasn’t like the normal blackouts that had happened before. Those were like black voids, completely blank. This was totally different, he knew it was there, just barely out of reach. His stomach felt sick with nerves as he tried to think of what he might have done. Did he hurt someone? Did he try to hurt Mr. Graves? Was that why he’d had to be sedated?

          His tongue felt thick in his mouth, but he tried to ask anyway, “Wh… what…?”

          “Happened?” Mr. Graves’s mouth curved up in a smile that was just this side of friendly. He stood up in a smooth, easy movement and went to pour a glass of clear liquid, bringing it over to set on the end table before easing Credence up to sit against the arm of the sofa. Then he took a seat, perching on the edge next to Credence’s legs, crowding him in a way that made his skin crawl. When his hands shook too bad to hold the offered glass, Mr. Graves wrapped his long fingers around it and held it for him. As the cool water eased the dryness in his mouth, Credence felt a little clearer. He felt jumpy, his skin too tight and his face too hot. Something was very, very, very wrong. It was more than this closeness, more than his wealthy surroundings. More than the thought of him needing to be sedated. His stomach lurched as he remembered Remus, standing between him and Mr. Graves, then the burst of light and the other boy flying through the air.

          _“Whoever and whatever the bloody fuck you are, you’re not Percival Graves.”_

          The dimples in Mr. Graves’s cheeks deepened as his dark eyes took in the realization dawning on Credence’s face. “Smart and clever boy you are. This will be much easier than I’d anticipated.”

          “W-who are you?” Credence asked, hating how small his voice sounded. He shrank back, expecting a blow even as the questions still fell out of his mouth. He had to know. “Where’s Remus? What did you do w-with him?”

          “Your little friend from the park,” Mr. Graves- or Not Mr. Graves- inquired, a gentle smile still playing about his lips. He completely ignored the first question. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about him, Credence. He’s tucked away, safe and sound. He can’t hurt you.”

          Credence was confused, brows furrowing as he tried to understand. “He didn’t-”

          He flinched when Mr. Graves reached for his face, jerking back. “Shh, shh,” the older man soothed, cool hand stroking Credence’s cheek before cupping his chin easily. “I’m not going to hurt you, my boy. You’ve had enough of that to last a while, haven’t you?”

          Credence swallowed hard and tried to stay very, very still, his eyes impossibly wide. His heart was racing as he tried to process what was happening and the feelings rushing through him. He didn’t want this Mr. Graves touching him, his words from earlier ringing in his mind. _“Such insolence. If we weren’t on such a strict timeline, I’d have so much fun beating it out of you.”_ He knew it was only a matter of time.

          Lies. Lies. Lies. _Liar!_ That old anger burned and gave Credence the courage to ask again, “W-where is Remus? What did you d-do with him?”

          “He’s a dangerous creature, Credence. I merely contained him where he can’t hurt anyone else.”

          “I want to see him. P-please, sir. I want to make sure he’s okay.” Credence tried to look away from that elegantly handsome face; the same one that had suckered him in and made him think he was special. The same one that had was continuing to lie to him. Shame came easy to him, as it had been a part of who he was for so long he didn’t know how to be without it. He felt it now, curling in his gut as he thought of how the other boy had been pulled into this situation because of him. Because he couldn’t do what this Mr. Graves wanted. He hadn’t found the special child, and now the sweet-faced, kind witch was in trouble.

          “Are you hungry? You must be, having been out all day at your mother’s inane tasks,” Mr. Graves asked, completely ignoring Credence’s request. He also ignored the surprised, uncomfortable jerk when he leaned in and kissed Credence’s forehead.

          “N-no sir,” Credence answered weakly, already knowing it wasn’t going to do any good. He was right. With a light tisking sound and another easy caress of a thumb over the curve of his cheek, Mr. Graves got to his feet and crossed to the huge mahogany door.

          “Nonsense. The house elves here are excellent at knowing when to be prompt. I’ll have them bring up something light. Maybe soup. Does soup sound good? With bread. That’s the ticket. Stay where you are, sweetheart. I’ll be back before you even know I’m gone.”

          Oh, God. What was he going to do?

*~*~*

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is very short, but I wanted to get what I had out before heading to work for the night. :D Thank you so much for your patience in waiting the looooooonnnnng time between updates, I've had a rough go of it lately and finding the headspace to continue writing on things was way more difficult than it should have been. Thank you all for the epic comments and kudos! I've said it before, and I'll continue saying it, I know I don't respond to the comments as much as I really should, but I read them all and I appreciate every single one. It's what makes me keep writing, seriously. I'll try to do better at replying, on this fic and others, promise. Social anxiety for the win! No, really, it sucks and I feel awkward as fuck most of the time, but I'll make an effort because you guys make an effort to let me know how you love my stuff. Anyway, long note done, on to the next chapter! Cheers!

*~*~*        

          When Newt came around the corner and into the large wooded park, Jacob ambling good-naturedly beside him, he stopped abruptly, a chill rolling down his spine. There was a heavy air of magic crawling around the area, some of it he recognized as Remus’s. The wild nature of the teen’s magic was distinctive, at least to someone who knew what they were looking for. For better or worse, Newt always automatically learned and catalogued any energy differences of the creatures that came into his care. He felt a pang of guilt thinking of Remus as being anything but a boy, but the reality couldn’t be avoided. There was something much more feral and earthy to the werewolf’s magical core than your average wizard.

          The other magical signature was much darker than his young friend’s. Fear settled in as he scanned the area, rushing toward the park bench and the cane leaning so innocuously against the side. He had to find the rest of his creatures, that was priority as they were much less capable of defending themselves. Especially in a society that would sooner kill them as help. He needed the Goldstein sisters, he decided and looked over at Jacob, who was staring at him with a mix of concern and awe. It wouldn’t do to just send him off on his own, and they couldn’t waste any more time than absolutely necessary.

          Finally taking his wand out, he cast the patronus charm, smiling as he always did at the majestic hippogriff that came to bow and wait for his request. Returning the bow, Newt murmured his message and sent it off to fetch Tina. He chuckled at the look of utter amazement on Jacob’s face, forgetting sometimes how remarkable such flashy aspects of magic could be. “That was a patronus charm,” he explained and left the cane where he’d found it. He trusted that Tina and Queenie would be there soon to pick up the trail as he’d requested, and he wanted to help as much as he could without actually being there. “It serves as protection against dark forces and can be used to pass along messages, as you just witnessed. Now, we need to move along and find my creatures so we can come back and help retrieve young Mr. Lupin.”

          “Lupin? So, you’re sayin’ that this kid, the werewolf, his last name means wolf?” Jacob shook his head with a snort. “Do all you wizards have such literal names?”

          Newt outright laughed at that and took the lead, going toward where the muggle had confided in him that there was a non-magical zoo set up in the middle of the huge park. His esteem of the other man went up even more as he added quick-witted and well-read to the list of qualities getting tallied.

*~*~*

          When the Not-Mr. Graves came back, bearing a tray of steaming bowls of soup and fresh bread, and another tray floating along behind him that carried a full tea service, Credence was feeling much clearer, but not calmer. In fact, his heart was racing and he felt a little like he was going to be sick. He’d moved to look out the window to get a sense of where he was, and thanks to his days of roaming the streets handing out flyers, he had enough knowledge of the city to know exactly where he was just by landmarks. Not that it would do much good in the predicament he was in. He’d felt the electric zing of something hanging over the window and had refrained from touching it, knowing that whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good to test it. There were a lot of things that had been beaten out of him growing up in the Barebone household, but sharpness wasn’t one of them. He’d been forced to become more cunning, to outsmart the sharp eyes of his Ma and sisters to avoid the beatings when he could.

          The household rules had been impossible to keep, some of them specifically aimed right at him and no one else. When Modesty had gotten old enough to start rebelling enough to catch their Ma’s eye, he’d had to work extra hard to spin her transgressions onto himself. There were times when he wondered if the girl was doing it on purpose, knowing that he took her whippings for her. It was times like this, separated from them and with too much time on his hands, that he really thought about it.

          His stomach grumbled at the smell of the soup, but he hesitated in taking it when Mr. Graves offered him a spot at a table enlarged by magic to become a dining spot for the two of them. He kept calling the other man Mr. Graves, not really knowing what else to call him. This was the only Mr. Graves he’d ever known, so it seemed like the only option and even though he wasn’t keen on staying over long, it didn’t seem like a good idea to offend him.

          Mr. Graves’s smile was knowing as he took a seat opposite the place setting he’d put out for Credence. The lamp light above combined with the light from the fire to make his handsome features even more alluring, but knowing what he knew now, Credence couldn’t help but see the underlying _wrongness_ of it. “Come now, I know you’re hungry. I didn’t poison it, if that’s what you’re afraid of. And I could easily subdue you if I wanted to, so there’s nothing to be worried over. You’re just making difficulties where there needn’t be.”

           There was a difference in how the other man spoke now, a hint of an accent that hadn’t been there before. More and more the real personality was coming through. Credence didn’t know if that was good or not. He warily took the seat offered, but kept his eyes down and his hands clasped firmly together in his lap.

          There was a heavy sigh from Mr. Graves, and Credence saw the exasperation in his expression when he glanced up. “Listen, Credence. I’m not going to hurt you unless I absolutely have to. I get it that you’re used to that kind of treatment, your mother’s a monster and someone should have stepped in a long time ago. The reality is that you’re not the only kid out there that’s been put through that kind of hell. My father was a drunkard with a habit of coming home with a burning rage and a heavy hand. He knocked the hell out of anything small enough to get in his way, and crucioed the piss out of us all at least once by the time we were ten. So I get it. But you don’t have to worry so much about me. I just want to help you.”

          Credence didn’t know what crucioed meant, but given the context, it must have been the witch’s equivalent to a severe whipping. He braced himself and asked, “Why now? You knew what she was doing and didn’t stop it before. You’ve been talking to me, healing me for weeks, seeking me out. What changed?”

          Realizing that he’d been too forward, spoken too much too quickly, Credence hung his head and clamped his jaw closed, waiting for the explosion. He knew better than to speak to his betters like that. Some of his worst beatings had come after such a slip up. Questioning was a sin very much not tolerated. His muscles went rigid as he heard the chair scrape across the floor quietly and Mr. Graves came around the side of the table, footsteps light and very deliberate. Trying hard not to flinch, because flinching was considered an act of trying to cast guilt on the punisher, Credence squeezed his eyes shut tight and waited.

          The touch, when it came, was so gentle that if he hadn’t been so hyper-focused, he never would have felt it.

          “Credence,” Mr. Graves’s voice was low and so soft that Credence felt a sob rising up in his chest. The fingers that had slipped over his balled up fingers eased them out of the fist and just held his hand in a tender grip. “Credence, I want you to look at me now. Please.”

          Heaving in an unsteady breath, Credence obeyed reluctantly. He exhaled slowly at the pained expression on the familiar face. The face that he knew didn’t belong to the person speaking to him. This wasn’t the real Percival Graves, he reminded himself. The pained, emotionally earnest expression plastered all over the classically handsome features wasn’t real. But it looked so convincing, as did the tears glistening in those dark, dark eyes.

          “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything sooner. My hands were tied. The Americans have strict laws about not interfering with non-magical people and I couldn’t officially take you away and still keep my cover. The work I’m doing here is very, very important and I couldn’t risk being found out. It’s a matter of life or death, my boy, and as much as it hurt, I couldn’t make my move until I absolutely had no other choice. You may not remember the last time one of my people interfered, but Ms. Goldstein nearly lost her job completely and was demoted to a low-paid clerk position.”

          The words held a note of truth, but Credence could still hear the malice in the other man’s voice when he had been faced with Remus’s rebellion at the park. _“I believe it’s time for you to come with me and we can see about giving you a lesson in humility, young man.”_ A lesson in humility, spoken with such a look of predatory glee as he shot the painful looking light at the other boy.

          “I’m not going to hurt you, please believe me, Credence.”

          Knowing it was a risk, but unable to stop himself, he asked, “What about Remus? Does that extend to him too? Is he all right?”

          Mr. Graves closed his eyes and leaned his head down to rest his forehead on Credence’s knee. He sighed, shaking his head before lifting it again. “Remus isn’t your ordinary wizard, Credence. I know your muggle fairytales have mention of his kind, but with your strict mother, I wouldn’t be surprised if you hadn’t heard any of it. He has a very dangerous, very contagious magical disease. He’s a werewolf and very unstable, especially at his age. In his own country it’s an immediate death sentence to be found even harboring someone like him. I have him contained for now, until after the full moon, which is next Friday.”

          Credence blinked, letting the information sink in. Ma had been very vocal about everything supernatural; pretty much anything dangerous and ‘evil’ she would take malicious glee in telling them all about it. Stories of witches and what evil they were capable of was first and foremost, of course. But werewolves and vampires had been in there too, those tales usually told on the full moon nights when she made sure they were all behind closed doors well before sundown. He thought of the vicious scars that ruined the left side of his friend’s pretty face, the ones that curved down over broad shoulders and into the collar of his shirt. He thought of the painful limp of the other boy, and the sight of him sitting at the park bench, hunched over and sobbing as if his heart were breaking.

          He thought of the defiant, almost angry way Remus had faced Mary Lou on the steps of the bank, and the way the dark haired woman that seemed far too familiar had come rushing up to usher him away. Credence felt even more connected to the other boy- they both had dark, painful and destructive secrets just under the surface. They both faced ridicule, fear, and persecution if anyone found out.

          Mr. Graves must have read his thoughts on his face, because he sighed resignedly and shook his head, touching warm fingertips to Credence’s chin gently. Credence kept very still, his eyes taking in the expression on the other man’s face, trying to read it to see exactly how badly this was going to blow up in his face.

          “We do still have a few days before he’s too unstable to be around others,” Mr. Graves said finally, after a long internal debate. “The week leading up to the full moon is difficult for them, though, so I’d have to bring you to him. Any sign of aggression and I’ll separate you, for your own good. This close to the full moon he’s not the boy you know. It’s called moonsickness, and it manifests differently with each specimen. All of them get sick, almost like a lingering flu, with fevers and lethargy. But some of them go more feral, almost violent when disturbed.”

          Credence could almost believe the sincerity in which Mr. Graves spoke, if it hadn’t been for the cold calculation in those dark eyes as he studied Credence’s reaction. He was smart enough not to believe everything he heard, from Ma or from the imposter in front of him. To his way of thinking, there was most likely truth to all of it- to the bloodthirsty, evil monsters that Ma had threatened to throw them to on those cold full moon nights and she was particularly angry, and the fragile but still dangerous beasts that Mr. Graves was pushing at him. He remembered the golden green eyes that had watched him from the bench at the bank, and shivered.

          Mr. Graves smiled and patted his cheek cheerfully, standing up again to go around to his chair. “Now, let’s eat. I know you’re hungry, my boy, so let’s not put it off any longer.”

          Not sure what else to do, Credence took the offered soup and bread and ate.

*~*~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure what Newt's patronus would be, so I just went with what felt right to me. ;)


End file.
